


On the Edge of a Blade

by buriedinblack



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward First Times, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Jim, Biting, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Frottage, I have no idea where I'm going with this, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buriedinblack/pseuds/buriedinblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon is repulsed and intrigued by Oswald Cobblepot—mostly repulsed. But after Oswald has a violent run-in with the mob, this view starts to change.<br/>[The good stuff starts in chapter 3. I won’t blame you if you want to skip ahead.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Popping my AO3 cherry. Be gentle.

Oswald Cobblepot was done for the night. His club was as full as the night before, a roaring success at last. It was mid-November and people came in even though melting snow still covered the ground. A satisfied smile grew like an uncoiling snake on his pale face. He was headed for home. With his bodyguard a step behind him, he left through the back exit, a car already running and waiting for him in the alley.

He slowed to a stop just a few feet past the door. The driver's side door was opened wide and the driver's seat was empty. He heard the rush of footsteps before he could turn his head around.

"What—?"

He heard a thud and a pained groan from his bodyguard as something connected with the back of the man's head. The two thugs let him slump to the ground. Cobblepot froze for a second and tried to run, forgetting it was not something he could really do, but their hands came forward too quickly and locked around his arms. He recognized them and tried to squirm away but their grips were like vices.

"Now, now, Penguin," one of them mocked. "We're just here for a chat. No need to worry."

The other said nothing.

"We're just here to talk business. That's all."

Cobblepot pretended to calm down and feigned a smile as best he could. "Uh, alright! How may I help you gentlemen? I-I'm sure whatever it is, we can work it out. P-perhaps we could go back inside my office?"

The two enforcers knew better than to give him a chance to make a break for it. One of them tightened his hold on Cobblepot's arm. It felt like it would snap just from the pressure.

"Nah, this won't take long," the first one said. "See, according to Don Falcone, you're two days late on his cut of the club's profits and he thought you could use a polite reminder."

"Oh, is that it? " Cobblepot replied with a trembling laugh. "Well, please tell Don Falcone I am terribly, _terribly_ sorry. You know how things are. You have your first business and you get caught up in success. If—if we were to go inside, I could hand you the cash right now. I'll—I'll even put in extra so he knows I'm sincere in my apology. And some for you, too, for the trouble of coming here." He grinned as amiably as he could manage.

The thugs only smirked at him. To them, he was just a rat with its tail caught in a trap, trying to squirm its way out.

"Sorry, Penguin. You know the Don hates waiting. This is your late fee."

"NO! NO, PLEASE!"

The two large men pulled him off his feet as he screamed, thinking for a moment his shoulders would be pulled right from their sockets. His voice cut off as soon as he collided with the brick wall behind. Rather than let him fall to the ground like the bodyguard, the talkative one pinned him to the wall and the silent one loomed in closer.

Cobblepot quickly found out why the silent one's job did not entail any conversation. A fist connected with his gut and air escaped his lungs like from a bellows. There was none left to let him scream any more.

Another and another slammed into him and God knows how many more.

The punches stopped and for the briefest time there was bliss in relief, until the same fist volleyed into his face. His head turned violently and blood spewed out of his mouth, landing livid-red on the grayish-white slush nearby. The skin near his eye and broke would bruise and swell later, but any harder and he'd have been left with an orbital fracture. Falcone said not to break anything or do anything else that might put Penguin out of work for more than a few days. He was useless if he couldn't keep the nightclub running.

Thankfully, it ended with the one blow. They threw him onto the wet pavement and watched him whimper and cough. His hands and knees scraped raw on impact and the pain in his bad ankle sang anew. Liquid metal filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He moved his arms, trying to get some sense of solid ground beneath him, but Mr. Talky pressed a boot to his back, albeit much less forcefully than Cobblepot expected, as his terrified yelp indicated. He could see under the car from this view. His driver's unconscious body was on the ground as expected.

"We assume there won't be any more problems after this, correct?"

Cobblepot wanted to answer immediately; he really did. But he just couldn't.

Talky did not like repeating himself. "Did you hear me, you rat-faced little shit?" This time, the boot got him in the ribs.

"Y-yes," Cobblepot managed to spit out, along with saliva and blood.

"Scuse me?" Another kick, this time bruising ribs.

"Yes! Yes! Please, just stop!"

"Good. Don Falcone expects your payment plus 50% by midnight tomorrow. And Also an extra 25% in his cut from now on. Understood?"

Cobblepot flinched from a kick that never came. "Yes!"

Talky laughed and Mr. Big, Silent and Ugly remained stone-faced.

"See you around, Penguin!"

The thugs left. When Cobblepot no longer heard their footsteps, he used what strength he had left to push himself an inch off the ground. He vomited, collapsed, and passed out.

 

_TWO WEEKS LATER_

"You goin' home or what, Jim?"

James Gordon looked up from behind his desk at his partner. He blinked tiredly.

"Yeah, I guess I should. It's late, isn’t it?"

"Damn right, you should. That drug pusher is still going to be dead tomorrow and then there's going to be two or three more fresh ones on the slab, I guarantee you."

A corpse had been fished out of the river in the wee hours of the morning. According to Eddie, he had enough heroin and coke in his blood to kill three men, the mob's way of telling him that skimming off the top was a bad idea. The rest of that particular crew was sure to follow.

Harvey's eyes suddenly widened with the flash of an idea. "Hey! You know who I bet knows something about this?"

Jim stared at Harvey. "No. No way."

"Yeeees way! That weirdo will tell you anything. You know he's in love with you, right?"

Harvey chuckled luridly and Jim replied with only an eye-roll.

"You _know_ he is," Bullock persisted. "He has cartoon hearts in his eyes every time he sees you. Like some little schoolgirl. God, it's creepy.

"Give it a rest, Harv."

"Hey, I had Fish when I needed a little street gossip," Harvey said. "You have yourself a Penguin. I'd take advantage of the opportunity if I were you." He raised his eyebrows with a tilt of his head to drive joke home. "He hasn't seen you in a while. I bet he misses you."

"Weren't you leaving?"

"Ha. See you tomorrow, Jim. And give some thought to what I said."

Alone now, Jim rubbed his eyes and stood up to put his coat on. _Yeah, right._ Visiting Oswald Cobblepot was the last thing he wanted think about. Ask him for information again? He was better off signing his soul to the Devil, who probably had more integrity. Harvey was right about one thing. He _was_ creepy. Every time he grinned at Jim, it wasn't a penguin, but a shark with razorblade-sharp teeth, eager for blood. Cobblepot was his _friend?_ Yeah, like the way a spider makes friends with a fly, trapping and then devouring it.

He couldn't help but think of Cobblepot as a wild animal. Apart from the nickname, he was as deadly and unpredictable. The idea of him liking anyone (or love?—nice one, Harv) was laughable. Ruin and death followed wherever he limped and Jim wanted no part of it.

And yet.

Jim looked at his watch. The nightly festivities just would be getting started at Oswald's.

No. God, no. _Please_.

He stepped outside the precinct and paused at the foot of the steps. He did not go home.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Gordon paused outside of Oswald's. He could still turn around and go home, but something pulled him there, and whether it was his own will or some other force he could not say. He sighed and entered.

It looked just like the last time he'd been there, the band playing and the chatter of patrons almost as loud. The smell of liquor crawled up his nose. The neon umbrella above the stage glared at him from a distance as if letting him know it caught him.

A man in a suit, shorter but more massive than him, approached him cautiously. He recognized Jim from a previous visit and knew not to mess with cops. This one definitely never came here for drinks. He kept his hands at his sides, in plain sight.

"Good evening, Detective," he said with his best fake smile. "How can I be of service?"

Jim bet that Cobblepot taught him to talk like that. "Good evening. I'm here to see your boss."

The man hesitated and the smile disappeared. "Eh…I'm afraid Mr. Cobblepot is not doing any face-to-face business, unless it's extremely important."

Jim was surprised. Cobblepot would have already been here, greeting him personally, fawning over him and grinning like a demented elf.

He didn't want to play this card, but he did. "Tell him it's me."

The greeter did not like being told what to do by someone who didn't put cash in his hand, but he was not going to argue with a cop, either. He said nothing and left.

The wait was longer than Jim expected. It was as if Cobblepot was thinking it over, which raised his concern and, he did not want to admit, injured his pride a little. It looked like had chosen the worst night to come here, which made the entire thing worse. He looked at the bar and wondered if a drink was in order after all.

He saw the greeter returning, not happy that Jim had been right. Yet the false smile reappeared when he was closer.

"Mr. Cobblepot will see you in his office. Please, follow me."

Jim followed him to the back of the club and down a short corridor. Another tough-guy, this one taller than Jim, stood by the door with his hands clasped in front of him. Jim had a talent for details, as any good detective did, and this was not the same guy that usually hovered near Cobblepot ever since he could afford bodyguards.

The greeter nodded to the guard, who nodded back and stepped away to make room for passage. The greeter knocked on the door.

"Mr. Cobblepot? He's here."

A beat passed before there was an answer. "Come in." It was colorless and oddly distant.

The greeter opened the door and let Jim inside, then closed it behind him.

"Uh, hello?" Jim greeted cautiously. Again, he was strangely disappointed. If Cobblepot didn't greet him at the club entrance, then he certainly would now, standing up and gesturing broadly toward the guest chair on the other side of his desk, saying something like, "James, old friend! So good to see you again! Please, have a seat!"

No, not that either. Instead, Cobblepot stayed seated behind the carved oak desk. The room was dark except for a lamp on the desk whose shade had been pushed all the way in the opposite direction. An open bottle of wine stood near his elbow and a nearly-empty glass was in front of him. His head was half-turned to the left. He clearly did not want to be seen.

"Hello, James," was the subdued reply. The tiny bit of enthusiasm in his voice was pure effort. "What can I do for you?"

As Jim came closer to the desk, Cobblepot tried to move away, but the dark did nothing to hide his face.

"I just—Jesus, what the hell happened to you?"

Cobblepot turned his face farther away, but Jim was coming over to his side of the desk for a closer look. With nowhere to escape, he gave up and finally looked up at the other man, albeit avoiding eye-contact. The two-week old black eye was yellow-green, now. The swelling was down, but the closed cut below was very visible. The sloppy stitching told Jim that he hadn't been to a legit doctor, but the kind who specialized in removing bullets out of a certain clientele. The ends of the sutures looked like the black legs of spiders trying to crawl out of the wound. Most obvious of all was the shame he wanted so desperately to conceal.

"It's nothing. I was in an accident."

"An _accident_?"

Cobblepot brushed his hair nervously. "Yeah. A…cab…I was on my way home and it cut us off and my driver swerved and…my face hit the window."

Not even close, Jim thought. Cobblepot fucked up somehow and this was the result. Probably not Zsasz; Falcone wouldn't waste someone like him on a simple beating. Either way, it made Jim angry. Cobblepot could think his way out of a scrap, but unless he was quicker, he didn't stand a chance. It was unfair, but of course the mob doesn't give a shit about fair. He looked at the scarred face, completely free of the usual pomp and fakery, of all the self-aggrandizement, and he found himself enraged that it had been marred by some lowlife's fist.

"Are you okay?" he asked. He could tell Cobblepot was buzzed from the wine, but not completely drunk. He struck Jim as the sort of person who became ridiculous when sloshed, but he was merely drowsy.

"I'm fine," Cobblepot replied. "Please, don’t worry about it. Would you like to sit down?" He hoped that this one time Jim would leave soon and invited him only to maintain appearances.

"No, thank you. I don't think this will take long." Jim knew he wasn't going to get the truth, so changed the subject. He considerately took a step back. "How's business?"

"Doing well. Thank you. We had a…bit of a slow start, but it's much better, now."

"That's good. Good for you." Jim moved on to the reason for his visit. His discomfort was more than he could stand. "So, um, I'm sorry of this is the wrong time to ask, but this morning a drug dealer got pulled out of the river. Killed with a speedball."

"A what?"

"An injection of heroin and cocaine. Guy had enough in him to be killed several times over."

"Oh."

The dealer had also been beaten—more like tenderized—within an inch of his life before the drugs took care of the rest, but Jim thought it better not to mention it or Falcone by name.

"The thing is, rival gangs are always shooting at each other. Happens every day. But this was worse. Somebody went out of their way to do this, to send a message. I was wondering if there's something you could tell me."

"No, I'm afraid not. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's alright." Jim believed him. The regret in Cobblepot's voice was perhaps the first genuine thing he had ever heard from him.

He lingered for a moment, trying to come up with something else to say, but Cobblepot spoke first.

"If I hear anything, anything at all, you'll be the first person I tell," he said, his voice somewhat stronger. He sounded more sincere than Jim had ever thought possible.

"Uh, thanks, Oswald. I appreciate it. You know, you should go back to your doctor about that cut under your eye. It needs another look."

Someone less perceptive than Jim might not have noticed the slight tremble in Cobblepot's voice. "I thank you for your concern. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thanks. Just, uh, feel better and take care of yourself."

The reply was almost a whisper. "Thank you, James. Have a good night."

"Good night."

After Jim left, the greeter returned, knocked on the office door, and inquired, "Is everything alright, Mr. Cobblepot?"

"Yes," Cobblepot curtly answered at a higher volume.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

The crash of glass on the other side of the door made him and the bodyguard jump back.

"You can leave me alone, you imbecile!"

The greeter and bodyguard exchanged looks of shared contempt and then smirked gleefully. They could tell by their little pissant-shit boss's voice that he was crying.

Outside, the city air seemed like a prairie breeze compared to the suffocation Jim had felt inside the nightclub. He doubted he would ever find the perp. People disappeared every day inside the dirty machinery of Gotham's criminal world, which belched out its pollution until it seeped into every inch of the city. That he expected one of its cogs to help him made him feel like a fool. He set out for home, vowing never to come near this place again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things will get better in the next chapter. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

The following night, Jim heard a soft knock on his just a short time before 10:00 PM. He was not expecting anyone, and few people knew he had moved out of Barbara’s loft. But he had a hunch who might have found him. He closed his eyes and groaned. This was not a good time.

Another bank robbery that morning. They sure were making a comeback in Gotham lately, as though all the criminals ran out of ideas and decided to go old-school and recreate the Great Depression. Everyone wanted to be John Dillinger. But this one got to Jim. The sole casualty was a 76-year-old man. In addition to the bank's money, the three robbers demanded all the money and jewelry the customers and tellers had on them. When the robber doing the collecting got to the old man, he did not expect to hear "No."

Eugene Randall, according to his daughter with who Jim later spoke, fought in Korea. He was not going to let some punk cow him. Not even a gun to his forehead and pistol-whipping made him submit. The robber shot him for an old watch and the few bills in his wallet.

Jim could not get the senselessness of it out of his head. It pissed him off as a soldier, especially. In war, there was at least a pretense of rules. There were none in Gotham City. No one was spared.

Two hours ago, he came home, showered, changed, and sank into the couch with a drink in his hand, relieved to have the day behind him. He dozed lightly and the drink was mostly melted ice, now. But, of course, peace was just too much to ask for. He got up and went to the bedroom and slipped on a pair of jeans. He considered taking his off-duty piece with him to the door, but decided to go back without it. There was another louder knock in the meantime.

"Who is it?" Jim asked, even though his gut knew.

"James? It's Oswald."

Jim groaned again. He opened the door and was met with a friendly smile. It was not the creepy one he had come to expect, but then remembered Cobblepot could barely force a smile at all the night before. He wondered if the beating had taken some of the hot air out of him.

"Hello, Ja—"

"How the hell do you know where I live now?"

The smile stayed on Cobblepot’s lips. "I have my ways. Just like last time."

"Whatever," Jim replied flatly. "What do you want?"

"May I come in? I have to discuss something with you. It’s important."

 _It better be._ "Shouldn't you be minding your nightclub? It's almost 10 o'clock."

Jim looked at the sutures under Cobblepot's eye and winced. There was no infection, but the sloppy stitching still bothered him.

"I took the night off. I think they'll manage fine without me just this once. I won’t be long. I promise."

"Alright, fine. Come in." Jim let him pass through and closed the door behind him.

Cobblepot looked around and assessed his surroundings. It was disappointingly spare, just a small living room with an attached kitchen and a hallway that led to a bathroom and bedroom. Jim rarely did much in the apartment but sleep.

"This is certainly different from the other place."

"It has a shower and a fridge," Jim said. "That’s enough. So, what do you want?"

Cobblepot clasped his hands together. "Well, James, I wasn't completely honest with you when I said I hadn't heard anything."

Jim rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Gee, that's surprising."

"No, wait! I really don't know anything about that drug dealer, but I think I know who might have done it."

"Oh, let me guess. Some thug sent by Falcone?"

"Yes, but—"

"You know, we ID’d the victim today."

"Oh." Cobblepot's enthusiasm disappeared. "Well, that's good." For once, Jim knew something he did not, and he had little left to impress him with.

"Yeah, it didn’t take long," Jim continued. "His prints were already on file. Just another pusher who rose up to head a crew and got too ambitious."

Jim had spent a good amount of time at his desk reading every word of Thomas "Smash" Gallo's record. Smash earned his nickname after he beat his cellmate at Blackgate's head into wall hard enough to embed skull fragments into his brain. The reason was self-defense. Because nothing otherwise could be proven, nothing was done. And yet, for all his moxie, Smash ended up as fish food at 28.

"So, did your boyfriend tell you anything?" he had heard a muffled voice ask nearby.

Harvey was holding a coffee and his mouth was full of Danish.

"No, noth—goddamnit, Harvey…"

"It's the same story," Jim continued telling Cobblepot. "Nothing you can't read in the _Chronicle_. He was in and out of juvie since thirteen, did two stretches at Blackgate, both drug-related. He was supposed to do a dime on the last one, but he got released because of prison overcrowding. He and his 'friends' were suspected in more than a dozen gang-related deaths, which is par for the course, out there. He probably shorted Falcone on his rent or something like that."

"Most likely, yes. It's funny you should put it that way. Falcone is basically Gotham's richest landlord. He doesn't deal the drugs, but he knows drug-dealers are unavoidable, so he 'lets' it happen on his territory as long as he gets a cut. He doesn’t care if the gangs all kill each other or what corners they own, as long as he gets his."

"I'm familiar with how it works," Jim said impatiently. "When they don't play by his rules, he makes sure everyone remembers who the real boss is. What _I_ need is something that will at least link it to the guy who did it. So, unless you have something substantial to tell me…"

Cobblepot raised a hand. "You didn't let me finish. Now, I admit I don't have anything certain, but there is one man I think you should look at. He's…quite brutal. And he seems the sort of man perfect for such tasks."

Jim narrowed his eyes. He took a step closer. "Does he, really, or do you just want him to because he beat the crap out of you?"

Cobblepot glared back at him, any remaining buoyancy gone from his tone. "As I said, I wasn't certain."

He liked to think he was always in control, always not one, but two steps ahead of everyone. But, every single time, Jim Gordon reduced him to something he did not like feeling: insecure. He'd come with the flimsiest excuse possible and Jim could see right through him. In fact, whenever Jim looked at him, he felt like he was just a bare outline of a person. The beating had also taken more of a toll than he wanted to admit. He found himself less collected and more fearful. Someone had yanked hard on a thread and he could not stop fraying.

"Is that really all you came all this way to tell me?" Jim asked. His patience was near an end. "I'm disappointed, Oswald. You got a name for me, at least?"

Cobblepot grasped for anything within reach. "No—but I would know him if I saw him!" This was a complete disaster. He should not have come. "Please, listen! I- I think he's new. There were two men that night. I already knew one of them, but I'd only seen the one who, uh, only once before. Maybe there's something—"

"No, _you_ listen. I'm not going to do your dirty work for you. If you think I'm going to hand you some guy on a plate so you can turn him into a pin cushion, you're not half as clever as you think you are."

Cobblepot's expression turned cold in an instant. "Well. I thought this would be beneficial for both of us. I came here as a courtesy. I'm sorry if I've wasted your time. I see I've wasted mine, as well." He turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Jim called out, making Cobblepot stop. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Don’t go. I'm sorry. That was mean. Today was very upsetting for me, to say the least, but that's really no excuse. I'll go get my notepad and you can give me a description. Okay? Please?"

Cobblepot made him wait for the answer. "Very well," he said, at last.

"And since you're here already, you need those stitches out. They're going to come out on their own if we don't do it now. Have a seat."

"We—excuse me?"

"You should have just gone to the ER instead of some mob butcher. That's surprisingly unwise of you."

"You know I can't."

"Then you should have come to _me_. I'll be back."

Cobblepot watched Jim disappear into the bathroom. He was nervous. No, not that; something closer to fear was slowly growing in him. It curled itself around his throat and squeezed. He did not like surprises. But he forced himself to ignore it and removed his black wool coat. If it earned him a few more minutes with Jim, it was worth it. He folded the coat neatly and draped it over Jim's couch, then sat down with his hands in his lap and waited.

Jim returned with a first-aid kit, but no notepad.

"You said you were going to get a description," Cobblepot said worriedly.

"I am," Jim replied. "But I'm doing this first." He raised the white plastic box, showing the red cross on the lid. He set down it on the couch. "Honestly, it's better that I do it. Hold on, let me wash my hands."

Cobblepot eyed the box as though it was full of brown recluses. Jim returned and sat down next to him.

"Have you done this before?" Cobblepot asked. He could already feel sweat under his bangs.

"More than once. I've actually had to stitch myself up a few times. Don't worry, it's quick. You'll see." He opened the kit and removed tweezers and a pair of medical scissors. "Have you been taking care of that?" he asked.

Cobblepot held in his unease as best he could. "Yes. Of course."

"Good. How long have those been in there, anyway?"

"Two weeks, at least."

"Oh, yeah, that's long enough. What were you planning to do? I doubt guy who did this wanted a follow-up."

Cobblepot shrugged. "Taken them out myself?"

"You could, but I don't recommend it."

Jim picked up the tweezers and scissors and moved closer to Cobblepot. The other man's mouth went dry. Jim's face was closer to his own than comfort permitted.

"Okay, this won't be too painful, but I'll have to pull on them a little. Turn your head a little that way."

Jim squinted and caught the leftmost suture with the tweezers.

"See, all I have to do is pull it away just a bit."

Cobblepot winced. He was doing his best not to tremble. The pain was not the reason.

"Sorry," Jim said. "Okay, and then I cut here under the knot. Aaand, pulll…there."

Jim dropped the spidery-looking thing onto a piece of gauze. "One down, two to go. Was that okay?"

Cobblepot swallowed dryly. "Yes. Fine." He had held his breath the entire time.

Jim repeated the procedure with the second suture. "Okay, just one more."

The last one came free and Jim put it with the others. "All done."

"Thank you," Cobblepot said. He smiled softly at Jim, the gratitude visible in face. He put his fingers up to his cheek, glad not to feel the barbed ends of the threads.

"Yeah, no problem."

Jim saw the difference. In that moment, Cobblepot looked remarkably human. Kind, even. Sincere. Maybe even…

He met Cobblepot's eyes again and he noticed for the first time how startlingly green they were. His gaze moved down to Cobblepot's mouth. Without giving much thought to it, he leaned in for a kiss.

Cobblepot's eyes flew open wide. He froze, giving Jim about two seconds with his immobile mouth. Suddenly, he sprang from the couch and began backing away toward the door.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

Jim raised a hand up to his mouth in horror. "Oh, my God. Oswald. I am _so_ sorry!"

Cobblepot produced a switchblade seemingly out of thin air and thrust it in Jim's direction, who was luckily still a few feet away. "Why did you that?" he near-shouted. He had all the fury of a cornered animal on his reddening face.

Jim put his hands up in a "calm down" gesture and took a few cautious steps toward him. _I have no fucking idea._ "I...I thought...oh, God, I'm so sorry. I thought you—please put the knife down."

"Is this your idea of a joke? Do you think that was funny? _Huh_?" Cobblepot's eyes glistened with the first signs of tears. Much more than rage, Jim saw something else: terror.

"No, it's not!" Jim insisted. "I swear. I swear _to God_. I honestly thought you wanted—"

"You _what_?" Cobblepot cried with a breaking voice.

"Look, this was my mistake. Never happened, okay? I think you know me well enough to believe that this stays here if that's what you want. Just... please know that I didn't mean to offend you. I…I meant what I said."

Cobblepot's tears spilled over and ran down his cheeks. He still held the knife pointed at Jim, though his arm was visibly shaking.

Jim rubbed his forehead. "Alright. Why don't I leave the room and you can get your coat and go? It'll be like you never came here, alright? "

There was a long silence as Jim waited for an answer.

"I don't understand any of this," Cobblepot said, shaking his head. "You—you're—?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah. I mean…it's complicated."

Several more tense seconds of silence passed. Jim moved quickly and decisively. He grabbed Cobblepot's switchblade away from him in a blink and closed it.

"Hey!" Cobblepot yelled. He almost tried to grab it back, but knew it would be a futile attempt. "That's mine! Why did you do that?"

"You don't pull a knife on somebody in their own home, Cobblepot. That's just rude."

"I _was_ going to leave! You expect me to trust you and then you do that?"

Jim thought for a moment, then held out the closed blade to Cobblepot. "Here. Next time you decide to drop by, leave the silverware at home, okay?" He smiled sympathetically, silently asking for a truce.

Cobblepot took it from him warily and let his arm hang at his side. "I think I should leave," he said. The knife seemed dull and useless to him now. The humiliation would have normally infuriated him, but in Jim's presence, he simply felt small.

"Alright," Jim said. "Um, if you still want me to, maybe I can see you at your nightclub again and you can give me a description there. Up to you."

"No. I think I'll deal with this on my own."

"It would actually be really helpful if I had at least something to start a file on this guy."

"Perhaps some other time, then."

"Okay."

Cobblepot raked a hand through his hair and appeared to gather himself. "I apologize for acting rashly," he said quietly. He kept his gaze away from the cop's face. His voice was a whisper by the last word. "But, you…you caught me off-guard."

"I know. I'm sorry."

There was another long, agonizing pause. Against his own will, Cobblepot made eye contact with Jim, hoping it could somehow communicate what he was thinking, even though it was buried so deeply in him. Even though just moments ago he'd fought against it.

To Jim, it looked like Cobblepot was about to cry again, which had genuinely unnerved him. He had to fix this somehow.

"For what it's worth, I still want your help. Although, now, you'll probably never want to talk to me again."

"That's not true," Cobblepot said, to Jim's surprise. "I don’t think that could ever be true." He looked at him with a fear-tinged longing and took a step forward. There was no mistaking it now.

Jim moved in, slower this time so that the other man had a chance to back out if he wanted to, but there was no resistance. Cobblepot stood frozen once again as Jim kissed him, gently holding the side of his face. His breath failed him and he felt his face inflamed again. The knife fell to the floor. He finally started to move his lips awkwardly in response to Jim's.

Jim paused the kiss after a few seconds and braced himself for whatever reaction was to come.

Cobblepot merely looked back with the same frail expression. He whispered, "James, I…"

Jim chuckled softly, brushing Cobblepot's cheek with his thumb. "Just call me Jim. Only my grandmother calls me James."

He kissed him again, more deeply, fully, and carefully slid his arms around Cobblepot's narrow frame. He heard a whimper when his lips next sought out the uncovered skin of the other man's neck above his collar.

Cobblepot forced himself to speak, as though a string of words could keep him from falling apart. "I- I thought you only liked women," he managed to rasp. He saw that one of his own hands was resting on Jim's shoulder and the other's fingers had started to curl around a part of Jim's T-shirt, though he did not remember moving them. He could not entirely feel any of his limbs. He did, however, sense the increasing rush of blood to his groin.

"I like you, too," Jim answered, lips still on skin.

Jim started to undo Cobblepot's tie. Once it was undone, his fingers found the top button of the white shirt and opened it. Then the second. He found pale sweat-dampened skin and pressed his mouth there to taste it.

Cobblepot only then realized what was happening. His arousal and the sight of his own exposed skin snapped him back into clarity. And utter panic.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped, wrenching himself away, and rushed across the room for his coat to hide his shame.

Jim followed. "Oswald!" He put a hand on Cobblepot's shoulder, making him jump.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Cobblepot rambled as he fought with the buttons of his coat. "I- I can't do this right now. I have to go. I have to go right now."

Jim was amazed. He always thought Cobblepot would be tearing at his clothes by now and all but trying to devour him. It was surreal to see him distressed like a normal person. He felt like he'd broken the poor thing.

"It's alright, Oswald. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No no it's fine I really should be going—!"

Cobblepot quickly made for the door, but Jim kept up with him. He caught him by the sleeve just as he was opening the door.

"Oswald, wait! I know you want to leave, and I won't stop you, but if you'd like to come back sometime… you're welcome to."

Cobblepot's face lit up, shocked and touched all at once. "You want me to?"

"Yes, I do," Jim said.

"Tomorrow?" Oswald blurted out.

"Uhh, sure. If you want. I didn't think you would want to so soon."

"It doesn't have to be tomorrow!"

"No, no, tomorrow is fine. I don't do much outside of work these days."

Cobblepot looked at Jim with the same heart-breaking expression from earlier. "I thought…you hated me."

"What? No, I don't hate you, Oswald. It's just…this is a little more complicated than I'm used to."

The other man nodded in agreement.

"Get home safe, Oswald," Jim said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jim."

Cobblepot offered a smile in parting and left. He walked down the hallway and his tears returned in full force, but not for sorrow. It was an outpouring of emotion, something very close to happiness.

Jim closed the door and exhaled heavily. He spotted the knife on the floor and picked it up, suddenly remembering that they had failed to write down what Cobblepot's assailant looked like. He hid the knife in a kitchen drawer and poured himself another drink. He finished it in a few gulps and then went to bed. He then spent two hours lying awake and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. How and why he invited somebody he'd been avoiding for months to return the next evening. And for what, exactly?

_Oh, God, what the fuck did I just do?_

///

Oswald quietly entered his apartment, praying that his mother was asleep. To his relief, all the lights were out. He went to his room, the same he'd slept in since childhood, and locked the door behind him. He undressed completely and meant to change, but remained standing beside his bed, staring off into nothing for a while. His fingers came up to his neck where Jim had kissed him and he began to replay the incident in his head. He hugged himself and tried to remember what it felt like when Jim's hands were on him and when Jim's body was pressed against his.

He wished he had stayed. He wished the kissing had gone on forever. Three times! Three times Jim kissed him, three more than anyone else. But Jim clearly wanted more and Oswald did not want to think about all the ways he would have embarrassed himself. He couldn't even kiss him back properly.

Oh, what a fool he'd been. He'd come so close to what he wanted, then ruined it spectacularly. Ran out like a coward. Jim must have thought him pathetic. And what about tomorrow? His stomach twisted and nausea rose to his throat.

His nightclub. He would have to make something up and say he was still sick. He had the flu. No, that's silly. Just a cold, a nasty cold; it's almost winter after all, isn't it? Yes. And he would have to tell Mother—

_Oh, God. Mother… Oh, no…_

No. He pushed all these worries aside as far as he could and, still undressed, got into bed, pulling the covers up to his neck. His mind returned to Jim. Jim's lips and breath on his skin. Jim's arms encircling him. All the things he wanted Jim to do to him but didn't dare ask. He lost himself in his pleasure, his hand working until he built up a sweat. The explicit fantasies shuffled behind his closed eyes until his mind could no longer hold the focus. He came gasping Jim's name into the darkness.

The subsequent calm ebbed away after several minutes, leaving him alone with his fears again. Tomorrow would be either the best or the worst day of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn.

Jim sat at his desk at the precinct, staring at the same file for almost ten minutes. He was getting nowhere on any of his open cases. It was starting to flurry outside and there was some relief in knowing Gotham's criminals did not want to go out in the snow, either.

"I heard it's going to snow all through the rest of the day," Harvey said, handing Jim another cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Harv. Yeah, it's going to be fun going home."

"No snow days for Gotham's Finest. But hey, here's something new: good news! Eugene Randall's death is the biggest story in America right now. It's been everywhere since yesterday."

"No kidding?"

"The media's so out for blood that the mayor's going to have a press conference later today about the city's decaying state and how he’s gonna clean the city up and blah, blah, blah."

Jim scowled. "He’s been saying that for years."

"Yeah, James can’t even take a shit without asking for a kickback."

"Classy, Harv. Well, at least someone's paying attention."

Harvey snorted. "Yeah, to us! You know this puts this mess squarely on our shoulders, right? GCPD's going to be to blame for all of this, as if all we do is sit on our asses all day."

Jim chose not to reply.

"Oh, and I heard you might have to make a few statements."

Jim straightened up in his chair. "What? No!"

"Yes! 'Ex-Army Cop Seeks Justice for Veteran.' Perfect headline."

"Isn't the commissioner's job to deal with this?"

"Of course. But everyone's going to want to hear from the brave men who also happened to find the Waynes' killer. I'd stay close to the phone if I were you."

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

Harvey threw his head back and laughed.

The phone on Jim's desk rang. The day had just started.

 

///

 

By the time Jim got home, the flurry was at the early stages of a blizzard. The accumulated inches of untouched snow and empty streets made Gotham look eerily beautiful. Sometimes, even unpleasant things had their rare moments. For all its flaws, Jim still begrudgingly loved the city.

It was shortly after 6:00 PM. Jim forgot to specify a time for Oswald to arrive. If he were to come at the same time as yesterday, there might be time to squeeze in a nap. He showered, ate some three-day-old Chinese takeout, and then sank into the couch so that a knock on the door would wake him.

Three hours later, Jim awoke on his own. It was well after 9:00. He wondered if Oswald would show up at all, which was understandable during a snowstorm. But, knowing Oswald, it would be much more unusual if he didn't.

He was surprised by his own nervousness. It wasn't simply that Oswald Cobblepot was coming over that worried him; he was bringing his unpredictability with him. Jim didn't like going into anything unprepared and he had no idea what to expect tonight.

Not fifteen minutes later, he heard knocking. He approached the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. Oswald."

"Just checking." Jim unlocked and opened the door.

Oswald greeted him with a timid smile. "Hello, Jim." There were snowflakes melting in his hair and on his coat. His nose and cheeks were ruddy from the cold.

"Hey. Come on in."

Oswald entered, praying he could keep the obviousness of his anxiety to a minimum. Jim, with his old jeans, white T-shirt, and hair combed back he looked to Oswald like he just stepped out of an old movie into full color.

"It's quite warm in here. Thank goodness."

"Yeah. Terrible out there, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"I'm not even surprised. When it snowed so early this year, I knew we were in for a bad winter." Jim hated forced small talk. "So, uh, let me take your coat. I do have a place to hang it. I should have said so yesterday, but I didn't expect you to stay long."

"Oh, thank you," Oswald said. He unbuttoned his coat and Jim stood behind him to help take it off. The gesture made Oswald blush a little. While Jim went to put it away in the bedroom closet, Oswald sat down on the couch, his hands in his lap just like yesterday.

Jim returned. "Can I get you anything?"

"You wouldn't have anything to drink, would you? I mean drink, as in…"

"Don't worry. I'm always stocked." Jim walked over to the nearby kitchen and poured some scotch over two glasses full of ice. No one was getting drunk tonight on his watch.

"Here you go," Jim said, sitting down next to Oswald.

"Thank you."

"Cheers."

Oswald quickly took a large gulp. It burned going down, but it would at least work. He stared into the glass afterwards, not realizing his hands were shaking.

Jim, however, noticed. "Are you okay, Oswald?"

"Why, yes!" Oswald answered, a little too enthusiastically, and smiled widely. "I'm fine! I had to walk up to this floor, but other than that, I'm fine."

Not to Jim, he wasn't. It would have been clear to anyone how not-fine Oswald was. Jim knew a lie when he saw one. He did it for a living. And he had nothing to be worried about from this man, after all, except maybe scaring him to death.

"I saw you on the news today!" Oswald said, wanting to take the attention off of himself.

"Oh, did you? I still don't even have a TV."

"Well, I rarely watch television, but my mother does. The news was on and I heard your voice and went to see. You were doing an interview with a reporter."

"Yeah, those are always fun," Jim said bitterly, and took a drink.

"You seemed quite determined."

"And now all eyes are on me to find the killer of a beloved old veteran. No pressure or anything."

"I think you'll find him," Oswald said, attempting congeniality.

"Let's hope so. How's the cut?"

"Much better without those stitches. Thank you."

"Any time."

Silence followed.

Jim took another drink and looked directly at the other man. "Oswald, can I be perfectly honest with you?"

Oswald wished he could refuse. "Of course," he said, albeit hesitantly.

"You look terrified out of your mind."

Any confidence left in Oswald was gone now. The already-flimsy mask fell off. He struggled for a reply, but could come up with nothing.

Jim said, "If you'd rather go home, it's okay. I won't hold it against you. Honest."

"No!" Oswald protested. "I- I don't want to go. I just…" He covered his eyes with a cold hand. They burned behind his eyelids. "Oh, God! I knew this would be a disaster."

He should have hated this, hated letting someone see him this way, so weak and pathetic. But he couldn't hate Jim even if he wanted to. He could only loathe himself for disappointing him again.

Jim put a hand on Oswald's shoulder, making him flinch. It was the last thing Jim ever expected to have to do. "Hey, it's okay. It's not nearly as bad as you think. It's not even bad at all. I'm kind of impressed, actually."

Oswald looked up and blinked with surprise. "How?"

"After yesterday, I was surprised you wanted to come here at all. And you seem kind of different since then. I guess, maybe a little less guarded. I know you're nervous, and no one wants to show they are, but there's nothing wrong with that. I don't know, it just seems like you're always putting on a face for everyone, but you're not, right now. That's not bad, either. Honestly, I don't know how you can stand it, keeping the act up. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

Oswald did not really feel like having a philosophical conversation at the moment, so he tried changing the subject. "May I please have a refill?"

"Ehh…I'd rather you stay sober, please."

"Oh. Alright."

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

 _Not really_. Oswald sighed. "Very well."

"Oswald, before yesterday, had you ever kissed anyone?"

Oswald's cheeks turned scarlet and he turned his eyes away. There was no hiding his embarrassment.

"I'm going to go with _no_ ," Jim said, "even though I find it unbelievable."

"You don’t have to patronize me, Jim."

"I'm not. Do I seem like the kind of person who flatters people for no reason? I can't be the only one in this entire world who wanted to kiss you, or ask you out, or whatever."

Oswald shrugged, his eyes still averted. "Perhaps. But you're the only one who's ever shown it."

"So, you've never…?"

Oswald's silence and look of shame were a clear enough answers.

Jim tread carefully. "Well, it makes no difference to me. I mean it. At least you don’t have ex baggage like I do. Frankly, you seem like the sort of person who doesn't really like to waste his time on relationships."

"I've never quite felt the need for one," Oswald said. "They just seem to get in the way. And it seems like they cause too much trouble in the long run. The pain strikes me as wholly unnecessary." _When you know what a man loves..._

As for sex, it was one of those base desires people wasted their time chasing after. All it did was cloud their minds and make them stupid. It was a pointless distraction.

"How shocking that you're cynical about romance," Jim said, chuckling. "I mean, yeah, if you're looking from the end of one. I don't regret the good times, though, not at all. Yeah, it hurts like hell when it fails, but it's not a waste. If you were happy at all, it was worth it."

Oswald wondered what happened with Jim and Barbara, but did not ask. He had a million other questions ever since Jim's revelation yesterday.

"By the way, you left your toothpick here," Jim said.

"My what?"

"Your switchblade."

Oswald let out a small laugh. "Oh! I did, didn't I?"

"I'll give it to you on your way out," Jim said.

"You don't trust me?"

"Let's say I'm overly cautious. You did draw it on me yesterday."

"You startled me!"

"Fair enough. And I am sorry about that. Oh, and you need to work on your stance and your grip is all wrong."

"Uh, I'm not exactly trained like you, Jim. Goodness, you were fast. I wasn't really a threat to you at all, was I?"

Jim shrugged modestly. Another silent pause followed.

"Jim, may I ask you a question?"

"Shoot. It's only fair."

Oswald strained to ask delicately. When he spoke it was near a whisper. "Um, so, you've...been with other men?"

"Yeah. A few."

"You've had relationships with them?"

"Uh, I wouldn't exactly call them relationships."

"Oh. I see."

"This was a long time ago. I didn't really get serious and start looking to settle down until after I was discharged. Call me old-fashioned, but I was ready for it. I met Barbara and it seemed to be headed that way. I really thought she was...uh, I probably shouldn't be talking about this with you right now."

"I don't mind. I'm interested."

"In the end, it proved one thing. This job is the kiss of death for relationships. The hours are unpredictable, you can get called in whenever, have to leave when you're in the middle of something."

Oswald listened intently. It was the first time Jim ever opened up to him.

"And you have to keep secrets. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, just to get them out of my head, but I didn't want to pollute hers with all the shit that happens out there. Hey, honey, how was work? Oh, the usual. Dead kids, dead women, dead men. Killed in some horrific way. And that's when you both start to drift."

Jim swirled the glass in his hand and finished his drink.

"That sounds awfully lonely," Oswald said. "Why do you do it?"

"Somebody has to. This city needs people on the good side, a tourniquet, at the very least."

"You mean more heroes?"

Jim chuckled. "If only."

"What about you? Aren't you one?"

Jim laughed again, shaking his head. "I'm not a hero. I'm just a man. Gotham needs something more than a man. I just don't know what."

There was yet another long pause.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad that you've let me come here."

Jim scoffed. "Let you? I invited you!"

"I know," Oswald said, "but you didn't have to."

"No, I _wanted_ to," Jim said. He sighed and moved closer, leaning in. "Oswald, I don't want you to just be here. I want you to spend the night with me."

This time, Oswald turned sheet-white. He didn't even have the breath in him to stammer a reply.

Jim shifted toward him and clasped one of Oswald's hands in both of his own. "Oswald, do you trust me?"

The other man raised his eyes up at Jim and nodded without hesitating. "Yes, I do," he replied.

Jim put a hand on the back of Oswald's neck and gently pulled him into a kiss. No surprises this time. Oswald knew it was coming and made no protest. Jim brought up his other hand, tilting Oswald's head just so. Oswald's lips were dry but soft, still clumsy but gradually grew more responsive than yesterday. Jim nonetheless felt the stiffness and tremors in Oswald's body under his palms.

He ran a hand through Oswald's hair, immensely liking the way it felt under his fingers, and hoping it might soothe the other man at least somewhat. As much as Oswald begged his body to move and offer something in return, his hands were glued to the couch.

Jim had no doubt Oswald knew how this was all supposed to work, but his nerves paralyzed him. No matter. Jim was patient, and after a while, Oswald started to get the hang of it. Despite his apprehension and the heaviness in his arms, Oswald made his hands come up and rest on Jim's shoulders. It did not go unnoticed by Jim; he kissed Oswald more deeply and gave his cheek an affectionate caress. He slid his hands inside Oswald's suit jacket and pressed them against his ribs, intending to pull him closer.

Oswald cried out in pain.

Jim broke away instantly. "What's wrong?"

"It's my ribs," Oswald said, putting a hand on his left side. There was no point in keeping the truth from Jim. "It's from…you know."

Jim covered his mouth. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry."

Oswald kept his eyes closed while he waited for the throbbing to subside. "Falcone's idea of a late fee. But I suppose I'm lucky, given recent events."

Jim laid a hand Oswald's knee. "Are you going to be okay?"

Oswald forgot his pain for a moment. "I, um, just need a minute."

"Take all the time you need."

Jim waited until Oswald finally said, "I'm okay" before resuming. His lips reconnected with Oswald's and they fell back into the flow of things. He pushed Oswald's suit jacket partway off of his shoulders, hoping Oswald had it in him to take it from there and remove it himself. Oswald held his breath and summoned up just enough will to take it off. Even with just one layer removed, he felt a touch of unease.

Jim started unbuttoning Oswald's vest first, this time. "You know, you might be a little overdressed," he teased.

Oswald made an embarrassed face. "Sorry. It was cold out."

"Don't apologize," Jim said. "I don't mind."

Oswald remained still, watching Jim's fingers at work. His tongue stuck uncomfortably to the roof of his dry mouth.

"You're going to make me do this all by myself, aren't you?" Jim said, teasing him again.

"Sorry—I mean, no!" Oswald blurted, and rushed to undo the remaining buttons.

Jim put a hand on Oswald's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "Hey, hey, I was kidding. I like this part, actually. You've got to relax."

Easier said than done. Oswald's arms returned to his sides. He wanted to apologize again, but kept quiet and only nodded. Jim opened the last button on the vest and Oswald again forced himself to remove it. Mere anticipation would have been a blessing compared to what he felt.

Jim undid Oswald's tie for him and pulled it off his neck, putting him at the last barrier before skin. He opened the first and second buttons of the shirt. He pulled apart the open halves of it and pressed his lips to Oswald's neck, clasping a hand around the other side of it. Like yesterday, he kissed and tasted the uncovered skin, earning a nearly-inaudible moan from the other man. Oswald had wondered since then what might have happened afterward, still cursing himself for stopping it. His face grew warm and the familiar alertness in his groin returned.

Jim undid another button and then another, revealing more skin. "If it's okay with you," he said, "I think we should go…" and glanced toward the hallway.

"Ah- alright," Oswald stammered. His mouth was like sand.

Jim took Oswald's wrist and smiled softly. "Come on," he said, and led him to the bedroom. Oswald would later swear his feet never connected with the ground.

Jim kept the room dark, but left the door ajar to let the hallway light in a little. The orange glow of a street lamp faintly came through the window. Oswald noticed the snow was coming down almost sideways now. They sat down on the bed. Oswald removed his shoes and socks with the same bodily disconnection as the other pieces of his clothing. His hands shook less if he removed himself from the situation. He scooted further onto the bed, following Jim.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jim said.

Oswald lay back and his head sank into the pillow. He felt the solidity of the bed beneath him and pressed his hands into the mattress for reassurance.

Jim had not been anyone's first since he and his last high school girlfriend lost their virginity to each other senior year. He had certainly never been a man's first and wondered if he was even the right person to do this. But, for better or worse, Oswald had chosen him. It was not something he took lightly. He lay beside Oswald on the uninjured side and gently pulled their bodies closer. He placed a hand on Oswald's chest and sensed the same tremors underneath. With the hope of remedying this eventually, he held Oswald's cheek tenderly and kissed him.

Their mouths met in soft, unhurried kisses. Jim threaded his fingers all through the tangle of black hair, bunching it loosely without pulling.

"Put your arms around me," he urged softly.

Though his limbs still felt like lead, Oswald raised his arms and slid them across Jim's back. It was the most he had done as far as personally making bodily contact with him. Up close, Jim could feel the tiny, soundless gasps Oswald made whenever their lips separated. He kissed Oswald's neck, following its curve, and felt a different kind of shiver from him. He counted it as a good sign.

After a few minutes, Jim pulled away. He knelt, straightened up, and pulled off his T-shirt.

Oswald swallowed hard. He gazed up at Jim, never more intimidated in his life. He was never more excited, either. The sight of Jim's chiseled torso and muscled shoulders and arms made him feel terribly inadequate, but didn't make him want Jim any less. Jim was the only person who could make him feel so low, yet the only one he never faulted for it.

Amid his self-effacing thoughts, he got distracted watching Jim shuffle out of his jeans, leaving Jim in just his boxers. Oswald looked away and felt the burn in his face again, though whether the cause was embarrassment or arousal was uncertain even to him.

Jim leaned over him, giving Oswald another kiss before beginning to work on unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. He put his lips to the smooth, surface of Oswald's skin, tasting it at a languid pace.

Oswald was uncomfortable with being scrutinized by Jim so closely, especially after seeing him half-undressed. He closed his eyes tightly so at least he couldn't see Jim watch him unraveling. And yet it felt so good. Pleasure overrode discomfort. He whimpered at every press of lips, every taste, every touch. Jim teased a nipple with his tongue and a strangled moan burst from Oswald's lungs.

"You alright, Oz?" Jim asked.

"Ye—what did you just call me?"

 _Uh-oh_. "Uh…"

"I'm not very fond of nicknames," Oswald said. He was not angry, to Jim's relief.

"Nicknames are usually supposed to be affectionate, not mean," Jim said. "I wasn't making fun of you. I wouldn't, ever."

Oswald found himself at a loss for words. Kindness from others was a rarity. And Jim was clearly going out of his way to be so very patient with him. "Well, alright. But, please, let's keep it just between us."

"Deal," Jim said, and gave Oswald a kiss. "And thanks."

Jim opened another button and noticed a faint greenish splotch on Oswald's belly. He pulled the fabric aside and saw it there was more of it.

"What the…?"

Oswald tried to dismiss it. "Jim, it's nothing."

Jim grabbed the shirt with both hands and pulled it out of Oswald's pants all the way up to his chest. Even in the dim light, the bruising on Oswald's abdomen and side was visible.

Jim recoiled in horror. "Oh, Jesus, Oz. What the hell did they do to you?"

"It's not so bad now," Oswald said. He was far more concerned about being just a few items of clothing away from naked.

"Goddamnit, how could you not go to the hospital?" Jim demanded. "What if you have broken ribs?"

"The man I saw said there weren't any. Wouldn't I be in more pain if there were?"

"That's not the point! What about internal bleeding? Organ damage?"

"Well," Oswald said, "it's been over two weeks and it's not worse—"

Jim scowled. "You’re one lucky son of a bitch, I’ll tell you that."

"So there’s no point in arguing about this."

The cop sighed, shoulders drooping, and he swept a hand through his hair. "Fine. But please come to me next time. Okay? You can't just ignore this sort of thing."

"You have my word."

Jim calmed down. "I'm sorry this happened you. It’s not really you I’m angry with." He could not stand anyone who hurt those weaker than them. "This seems excessive even for them."

"The idea is not to require a second notice. Besides, every thug has his own preferred methods. I'm sure my boss knew exactly who to send to correct me."

Outside, the wind whistled loudly, catching their attention. The trees planted along the curb rustled furiously as they resisted the violent pull on their branches.

"Oh, dear," Oswald said. He was clearly going to have to stay longer than intended, which worried him. What would he tell Mother?

Jim regained Oswald's focus with a kiss. He brushed the long bangs out of Oswald's eyes just to get him to make that shy face again. He pushed Oswald's shirt off his shoulders with a kiss to the newly-uncovered surface and helped remove it. Oswald felt painfully exposed and absently crossed his arms out of modesty.

In the dark, Oswald's skin was like moonlight. Jim wanted nothing more than to absorb every detail of it with his hands and mouth, but, for now, he had to be careful.

Oswald left the removal of his pants to Jim, raising his backside when Jim pulled them past his hips. He'd never been naked in the presence of another man and the thought of it nearly made him want to flee like yesterday.

"We ought to get under these blankets," Jim said. "It's too cold, even with the heat on."

Oswald exhaled with relief.

Jim pulled the blankets snugly over the both of them. Oswald shut his eyes again. The press of Jim's body so close to him made the trembling return and his mouth dried up again. But he felt Jim's lips in the crook of his neck and a hand in his hair again, and found it surprisingly soothing.

Slowly, slowly, Oswald began to melt in Jim's embrace. His urges were at last winning over his nerves. Jim was rolling his hips into him, the easy friction pleasing to both of them, and Oswald's hips began to move at a matching pace. Though his eyes remained closed, his hands came up to rest on Jim's shoulders without prompting and then moved down, feeling out the hard muscle of Jim's arms. Jim let him explore as much as he pleased, elated to see him do it. He thought to reward him for all his progress; his hand trailed down slowly until it reached the front of his boxers.

Oswald gasped so hard his entire body jumped. Jim immediately took his hand away.

"I'm sorry! If I'm going too fast—"

"No, no! It's not that. It just surprised me. No one's ever…"

"I understand. Should I keep…?"

"Please. I- I think it would be best if you proceed without minding my, uh, reactions. I do trust you."

Jim kept him at ease kissing him while he moved his hand to Oswald's inner thigh, caressing the soft flesh until it quivered under his touch. He moved his hand back toward Oswald's groin and placed it there. There was a quick, stuttering intake of breath, but no protest. Jim went a little further, palming him, feeling out the shape of his arousal. At least that part of him worked without any opposition. The sighs turned into strained whimpers the longer Jim touched him. Carefully, Jim reached behind the waistband and, receiving no objections, gave the other man's erection a tentative touch.

Oswald's hips bucked sharply, but Jim didn't stop, eager to see how Oswald would respond. He wrapped his hand around the other man's member and began to stroke it, watching as Oswald's head lolled back and his kiss-bruised lips parted for moans. He slid his thumb over the head and Oswald let out a strained cry. Jim paused for just a moment to remove his boxers and then Oswald's. Oswald panicked again, but the feeling dissolved as soon as Jim resumed.

Oswald felt Jim moving again and opened his eyes to see Jim’s head between his legs, kissing the soft flesh of his thighs.

"Just so you know," Jim said, "I haven't done this a lot and not in a really long time. But I've gotten it plenty, so I think I have a pretty good idea of it."

_Done wha—_

Oswald released a strangled moan and arched up sharply as soon as Jim’s lips closed around his cock. It was the reaction Jim hoped for and he proceeded, sliding his lips down as much as his unpracticed mouth would allow, making up for the rest with his hand. He felt Oswald tremble where his other hand was on Oswald's thigh, but was certain that, for once, it was not out of fear. The younger man whined and whimpered in wordless pleas for more, clawing blindly at the bedsheet, his face a deeper red than ever before. The pleasure radiated along his nerves throughout the rest of him, spreading like wildfire. It was the most beautiful agony he'd ever known.

" _Oh, Jim…_ "

Jim pulled off, wrenching a mournful whimper from Oswald's lungs. He took his own cock together with Oswald’s in his grip and stroked them both. He would not have thought in a million years he’d hear the sounds that fell from Oswald's mouth, halfway between desperate sobs and wanton moans.

Jim let go of himself and stroked him, watching his pleasure display itself on his face as it grew. Oswald cried out, shuddering as he erupted in Jim's hand. Jim stroked him through it to his last twitch and then finished himself quickly with a final groan.

He landed next to Oswald, out of breath, but was far more interested in listening to Oswald's heavy breathing. The pallid chest rose and fell, eventually slowing. Oswald's cheeks retained a healthy pink flush and his hair was a perfect mess. Jim thought he looked beautiful in his post-lovemaking bliss. He was dying to know what Oswald would say.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Oswald shook his head shyly.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever left anyone speechless."

Oswald smiled, suppressing a laugh. He thought he owed Jim at least a sentence or two in reply for his efforts. "I enjoyed that very much, Jim."

Jim knew this was the most he was going to get out of Oswald, so he didn't push him. "So did I."

Oswald looked at what their "efforts" had left on his belly. "This is disgusting."

Jim chuckled. "Knew you'd say that." Jim took a box of tissues off the nightstand.

"I think I need a shower."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Jim said, cleaning him up. "Bathroom's on the right if you insist, though." He then tried pulling Oswald into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Oswald asked.

"What the hell does it look like? I'm putting my arms around you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, sorry, this part is non-negotiable."

"I have a very defined sense of personal space," Oswald groused.

"Says the guy I just jerked off. It's not going to kill you."

Jim shifted closer and kissed Oswald just above the temple. Oswald closed his eyes and a smile slowly appeared on his face. No, it wasn't so bad.

 

///

 

After a while, Oswald carefully tried to wriggle himself out of Jim's embrace.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jim asked playfully.

"Oh! Uh, I think I should go home."

"What?" Jim gestured toward the window. "There's like ten feet of snow out there."

"So it makes no difference if I leave now or later."

"It does to _me_."

"How?"

Jim stared at him incredulously. "Seriously? I want you to stay. Just for a little longer. Please? Don't tell me you're the sort of guy who fucks and runs."

"Okay," Oswald replied. It was nice and warm in bed with Jim and, outside, it looked like the lowest circle of Dante's hell. "I really do need to use your bathroom."

"Go ahead."

"Where's my underwear?"

Jim helped him find it; it was bunched up under the covers, near the foot of the bed. Oswald secretly lamented how all the pieces of his wardrobe lay in wrinkled piles on the floor. He came back after a few minutes and settled back in the same way as before. Jim thanked him with a kiss to his forehead.

After some time passed, Jim said, "Oz, let me ask you something I'm a little curious about, if it's okay."

"Alright. I suppose it's my turn to reveal something now."

"Well, that's up to you. You don't really seem like the sharing type, so I'm not going to make you."

"No, go ahead. There probably isn't very much you know about me, is there?"

"I know your face gets redder the more turned on you get."

Mortified, Oswald blushed deeply and looked away.

"And that your eyes are green. Well, I knew that long before tonight. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I didn't have a knack for details. Oh, and those freckles on—"

"James, please…"

"I've learned a lot of things about you tonight I won't mention."

Oswald's flush intensified, though not entirely out of embarrassment.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop. So, here's my question. What were you going to do if I had told you to fuck off for good or had been completely straight?"

"Oh, Jim," Oswald said, laughing wistfully. "Do you really think I was that delusional? I never actually thought I had a chance with you. I just…wanted to be around you. I seem like such a fool, don't I?"

"No. I just wish I'd done this sooner."

Oswald said nothing, but it was as though a ton of weight disappeared off him.

"You know what?" Jim said. "Just so we don't forget again, how about you tell me what that bastard looked like?"

"Okay."

"Fair warning, I'm going to have to turn the light on."

Jim got out of bed and walked over to the light switch near the door. The light blinded them both for a few seconds. Oswald's eyes widened and then he shut them as soon as he glimpsed Jim naked. He envied his comfort in his own skin.

Jim returned, got his notepad and pen out of the nightstand, and settled back in next to Oswald.

"So, how tall was this guy?"

"Um, taller than either of us. Much taller."

"Average build, large build?"

"Large. Like—like one of those Frankenstein monsters."

Jim snorted. "Sounds charming."

"And he never said a word."

"What?"

"The entire time, not one word. And his expression never changed, either. Men like him always look more than happy to push me around. But not him. It was…like routine."

"Jesus."

Jim gleaned as many details as he could out of Oswald, though he doubted it would lead anywhere. There was nothing else too outstanding about him, no facial hair or scar on his face. It might have been better to have Oswald sit down with a sketch artist, but that was not an option.

"Oz, do you really think this guy might have killed my vic? Be honest."

Oswald grimaced regretfully. "It's a hunch, at best, I admit. I just thought it took a special amount of coldness to kill a man that way. I would not have come to you completely empty-handed, Jim."

"Shit, I feel like I'm spinning my tires with this case. Harvey says I shouldn't even bother with it."

"I wish I could be of more help. I really do."

"Don't worry about it," Jim said. "You know, you're really sticking your neck out by telling me about this guy in the first place. If anything happens to him, well, no offense, but I thought you'd cover your tracks better."

"I don't have much of a choice. I can't do anything on my own without drawing attention."

"Yeah, about that. If I do arrest your guy for any reason, you know I'm not handing him over to you, right?"

Oswald shrugged. "I don't expect you to. You're very stingy with your favors."

"Hey! There's a way I have to do things. You may think you don't, but I have to follow the law. That reminds me, we need to talk about this."

"This what?"

"This. Us. I think you realize we have to keep this, well, under wraps. I'm not exactly popular with some of my colleagues. The Commissioner would have a month-long party if he found out I'm, uh, associating with you."

"You don't seem like the kind of man who would hide his predilections."

"That's not the problem, Oz. I don't care if anyone knows whether I sleep with men or women, but at the same time, my private life is still none of their goddamn business. And, anyway, it's not so much that you're a man. It's that you're a criminal."

"Oh. Right."

"I'm a lot more worried about you. I'm sure the folks you work around would react even less favorably."

"Yes, they would. I'm not…overly popular in my circles, either. It would be even worse if they knew it was you."

"Wonderful. We'll have to be really careful from now on."

"Wait, does that mean you want to see me again?" Oswald asked with all the astonishment of a little boy.

Jim gave him the same _are-you-kidding-me?_ look from before. "Jesus Christ, Oswald. I thought that was obvious."

"Not to me."

"You're ridiculous." Jim got his notepad again and wrote on a new page. "Just to prove it, I'm giving you my cell number, which I was going to do anyway." He tore the page out and folded it, but just before Oswald took it from him, Jim pulled it away.

"Don't make me regret giving you this," he said sternly. "Use it with discretion. Don't call; text. If I don't get back to you right away, don't take it personally. Just wait. I can't have a conversation when I'm standing over a dead body in an alley."

Oswald did not care for Jim's tone. "Alright! You don't have to berate me like a child, James!"

Jim smirked and finally gave Oswald the paper, who snatched it angrily from him. Oswald sat on the edge of the bed, picked his pants up off the floor, and put the paper into one of the pockets.

"I'm not an idiot!" he grumbled.

Jim moved up behind him.

"I don't take condescension from anyone, not even you, Jim Gordon—"

Before he could complete his rant, Jim ran his fingers up Oswald's spine, making him shiver and cutting him off. He placed a kiss on Oswald's shoulder and continued to his neck, while a hand trailed down along the protruding ribs on the unharmed side.

"You have gorgeous skin," Jim murmured. There was another quick shudder.

He brought his other hand around to Oswald's chest and rubbed circles with his thumb over a nipple. The wandering hand kept moving and reached into Oswald's underwear.

Oswald jumped. "Jim, you're horribly fresh!" He wanted to shove Jim's hand away just to defy him, but it felt too good.

"Tell me to stop and I will."

"I— _ohhh_ …"

Jim stroked him until he was hard again, then took his hand away.

"Come on back," he said with the same enticing voice.

Oswald turned his head around. "Again?"

Jim groaned jokingly.

"Oh. Then, can you please turn the light off?" Oswald asked.

"What do you think you have to be ashamed of?"

" _Please_ , Jim?"

"Okay, hold on." Jim went to turn off the light and then got back under the covers with Oswald.

Jim pulled Oswald's underwear off and returned to stroking him while his own cock hardened. He then straddled him carefully and rutted into him, flesh sliding against flesh. Oswald gripped Jim tightly around his back, pulling him in for a kiss, fingers digging deeper into the other man as his ecstasy grew. His hips thrust up, matching Jim’s quickening pace.

"There you are," Jim whispered. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Oswald threw his head back and cried out as the orgasm tore through him, and he felt wet warmth on his skin like the first time. A moment later, Jim came and sagged forward, kissing Oswald breathlessly, and then rolled off him.

Oswald let Jim take him into his arms. They pressed closer to the radiating heat of each other’s bodies, exchanging panting breaths while their hearts gradually slowed. Jim put his forehead to Oswald’s head and kissed into his hair.

"You did great," he whispered.

Oswald closed his eyes and the smile came back. It wasn’t long before they both fell asleep.

 

///

 

Jim awoke the next morning to the sound of his alarm clock. He reset it and rubbed his eyes. He sensed something was off within a second.

Oswald was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim sat up in his bed. He checked his phone. No new messages. He debated whether or not to text Oswald and find out why he ran out on him. He decided against it.

He went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. The knife was gone with its owner.

 

///

 

At the station, Jim and Harvey examined every detail of the bank heist hostages’ statements. There was nothing that stood out. The robbers wore balaclavas and had dressed almost identically in all-black. Everyone was too damn scared to notice too many details. They had no similarities to any known heist crews.

"Screw this," Harvey said. "Let's watch the tape again."

"We watched it at least ten times yesterday," Jim said. He had the bank security camera footage memorized by now and was tired of seeing a septuagenarian get shot in the head while on his knees over and over.

"It's still better than looking at these goddamn notes all day. They're giving me a headache."

Jim picked up his cup of coffee. It had gotten cold, so he quickly drank it down. "And not a word from the pawn shops."

"That’s a long shot, if there ever was one, Jimbo."

"I have to try, at least. Every shop in the city is on the lookout. They have our list of stolen loot. If one of those knuckleheads tries to sell anything they took from the hostages, we’ll know."

" _If_ he tries. Odds are, some other mook bought it from them and they're spending the money at a titty bar."

"Not if they'd rather take the reward money for turning them in. And anyone dumb enough to shoot a civilian when all they had to do was take the loot and run is probably stupid enough to try to sell it right away. These guys aren’t masterminds."

"Smart enough to disguise themselves. They’re probably halfway to Canada now. And the gun he used is no doubt at the bottom of the river."

"I love your optimism," Jim said. "Hey, what about Smash?"

"Who?"

"Uh, that junkie dealer we pulled out of the river a few days ago."

Harvey scoffed. "Why are you even thinking about that? It's just like any gang or mob-related death. File it away with the hundreds of others where it belongs. Nobody ever solves those—nobody _cares_. And nobody ever misses them. They shoot each other up every day, over crap like a block or two of territory, or just because they don’t like each other. There’s no mystery over who killed who and they’re not shy about it. Hell, they do it in open daylight. All the more reason to leave it alone. This, what we're doing now, that's worth our time."

Jim sighed. It was just as he thought. And still not even a name for Oswald’s mystery man. It was only a matter of time before the little maniac's patience wore out and he killed the two goons himself.

His thoughts strayed back to last night. Reason told him he should not have been surprised by Oswald's departure, but he still felt slighted. Another person walking out on him was the last thing he needed. Had it all been an act to gain his sympathy and then manipulate him? If that was the case, then it was the damned best performance he'd seen. Was he really pretending every time he trembled under his touch, the way he moaned when—

"Jim.” Harvey waved at him. “Hey, Jim!"

"Huh?"

"You zoned out. See? You're too stressed."

"Yeah. I guess so."

 

///

 

Hours later, after Jim's third coffee, his phone alerted him to a new message. He took it out of his pocket and read the text.

> _**Hello, Jim. This is Oswald. May I speak with you over the phone when you are available? Thank you.** _

_Shit_. Jim could hear Oswald's voice in his head as he read it. And of course he would write a text like a letter home from the front lines of Gettysburg. This was something Jim had to deal with sooner or later. Better sooner.

> **Is in a few minutes OK?**
> 
> _**Yes.** _
> 
> **Good. Wait.**

No point in mincing words.

"I think I need a break," he said. "Now, I’ve got a headache."

"Great idea," Harvey replied. "I’m starving."

"I saw you eat three jelly donuts for lunch two hours ago."

"So?"

Jim rolled his eyes shook his head. He stood up and put his coat on. "I’m going outside."

"Are you kidding? It’s freezing out there."

"Just for a few minutes. I need fresh air. It’s not windy, so it shouldn’t be too bad."

Harvey shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"I’ll be right outside the door."

Jim stepped out onto the top of the building’s main steps. His breath puffed out in front of him. The air was in fact still, and so was most of the city, except for the occasional car passing by. Only a snow storm could bring Gotham to a standstill. Otherwise, the the wheels kept turning and the machine kept grinding up bodies and slaked its thirst with blood.

He held off the call as long as possible before it became outright rude, and then dialed.

Oswald picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Uh, hey. It's Jim."

"I know it's you, silly,” Oswald replied. He sounded friendly but reserved. “Thank you for calling."

Jim kept his voice disinterested. "Sure. So, what's going on?"

Oswald found it hard to speak even though he'd rehearsed what he wanted to say, so as not to sound like a stuttering idiot. He only half-succeeded.

"Well, Jim…I, um, I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly. I woke up and, well, I really hadn’t planned on staying all night. I guess I panicked somewhat.”

Jim said nothing, only listened. Oswald sounded contrite enough, but Jim needed certainty. The only people who can play mind games as well as criminals are cops.

"It was very early and I didn't want to wake you. I'm very sorry."

"It's fine,” Jim said casually. “Don't worry about it. I wasn't completely surprised. It's okay if you got scared—"

Oswald cut him off with a flustered scoff. "What? I wasn't scared! I was—"

“Look, I get it. You don't have to explain. If you want to put it behind you and forget it, don't worry. We both know this has to stay between us, anyway. Never happened, okay? You're safe.”

“N-no!” Oswald protested. “That's not what I meant! I called to apologize and…” He sighed heavily. His voice weakened with every word. “Because I just wanted you to know that I didn't leave because I regret anything. I don't. I mean it.”

Jim was silent for a few beats. "Oh. I didn't know." _Oh, fuck._

“I'm sorry I made you think that, Jim. So, if you prefer not to meet again under, um, similar circumstances, I won't insist. But, for my part, I'm...well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

"No, wait! I'm…actually glad to hear that—what you said about last night, I mean."

Oswald's voice perked up. "Y-you are?"

"Yeah."

"So…then, is there a possibility I might see you again, sometime soon?"

“Uhh, I'm going to be really busy for the next few days. I wish I could give you something more definite than that.”

"Oh. Well, I was thinking of going back to the nightclub this weekend. I've been away too long, and you know how it is. If you want something done right, and so forth. If you're unavailable, I may as well."

"I'll let you know when I'm free as soon as possible."

Jim heard a knock on the glass window of the door behind him. Harvey waved from the other side.

"Hey, I'm ordering in for lunch! You want anything?"

Jim turned his head and pulled the phone away from his face to answer. "No." He then returned to the call. "Hey, I gotta go."

"Alright. Thank you for calling, Jim. And for understanding. I was worried you were mad at me."

"Nah. Just, you know, maybe stick around next time."

"I will. You have my word."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Jim closed his eyes and let his head fall forward guiltily. He exhaled as though he held his breath the entire time. He expected excuses and an insincere apology, but he'd gotten the opposite. Oswald could lie like a trained actor, but it seemed that he'd been unable to keep that carefully-maintained composure ever since the beating. Hearing him sound so uncollected was unnerving. Now Jim was wondering if he should have just let Oswald keep his secret, so that none of this would have happened. It had been a long time since he'd felt like this much of an asshole. He sighed heavily and went back inside the station.

Harvey was waiting with a grin. "Ha! I knew it! That was a chick that texted you!"

Jim blanched. "You heard that?"

"No, but you get a message and then sneak out for a call? Come on. Kept yourself warm last night, did ya?"

Jim rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , you're really going to have some delivery boy come here in two feet of snow?”

“I will tip generously.”

“Fine.” Jim took his wallet out and handed Harvey a few bills. “Just get me a coffee. It's gotta be better than the mud water we have here.”

Just as Jim was taking his coat off, a uniformed officer hurried up to their desks.

"Detectives!”

“What is it? You got something?”

“A pawnbroker called the tip line and he thinks he got sold a watch that belonged to the victim."

Jim and Harvey’s reply was almost simultaneous: "Holy shit!"

 

///

 

Within a few hours, the suspect’s face, taken from the pawn shop’s security camera, was on the news. The shop owner was a vet himself and had been watching for customers that seemed off. A nervous kid that looked barely out of high school had come in and, along with some jewelry, sold a fine vintage watch. It was one of the few expensive things the old man ever treated himself to. No man should be without a good watch, he believed.

“The dumb bastard's wearing a hoodie, like that'll actually hide him,” Harvey had said when the shop owner showed them the footage. “He thinks there's just the one crappy camera like in a liquor store. He’s either new to the job or an idiot.”

“Why not both?” Jim asked. “That whole crew must be new in town if they haven't made any friends here to sell to. Look at how he's acting. Anyone could see he's up to something. He has no clue what he's doing.” The kid was harder to hate when Jim saw how young and scared he was. Jim almost pitied him.

“Amateurs. See you on the 6 o'clock news, dumbass.”

Every cop in the city was on the lookout for him. There was little for Jim to do at the end of the day but go home and crash.

The shop owner turned down the reward.

 

///

 

His phone woke him up near 3:00 AM. It was Harvey.

"Jim, you’re not going to believe this."

Harvey's tone snapped the sleep out of Jim. "What is it?"

"They found our guy in a ravine halfway between here and the state line."

"You’re kidding me!"

"Nope. His pals got rid of him quick after he hit the news. He was tied up and his throat was slit. Probably put him in their trunk then cut him on the scene before tossing him."

"Jesus. Sounds like they got rid of a liability."

"Well, now the whole thing is the FBI’s problem. Those guys are long gone out of the state by now. But we got _our_ guy, Jim. We got him."

Jim exhaled all the weight of the past few days. “Yeah,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow, Harv.”

He hung up and then called a different number. It rang several times before anyone picked up.

"Hello?" a woman answered, sounding tired and annoyed.

“It’s Detective Gordon. I'm sorry to call you at this hour, but I have news."

Her tone changed. "Yes? What is it?"

"We found the man who…he's dead. I just thought you would like to know right away. I’ll try to return the watch to you as soon as possible."

There was a long pause before the woman replied. "Thank you, Detective."

"Have a good night, ma’am."

Jim hung up. He tried to fall back asleep, but had been too stirred up. He rose and treated himself to a beer from his fridge. After an hour, he finally succeeded, wearing a smile on his face for more than one reason. He had another phone call to make later.

 

///

 

Jim could not remember the last time he was so glad to leave work. The press had descended on the precinct, eager for the details. Both the mayor and the commissioner went on TV in yet another press conference and spouted off the usual crowd-pleasing prattle about “justice served” and the outstanding work of Gotham's Finest. Jim had to smile and shake their hands on TV with the whole city watching, and felt like washing his own afterwards.

"That was a feeding frenzy," Jim groaned. “And those two, exploiting an old man's death. This wouldn't have been front-page news if he hadn’t been old and a vet, and everybody jumped on it and used it for themselves.”

"Yeah," Harvey replied, “but you gotta admit, it's good publicity for us, too, Jim. The press ain't usually this nice to us.”

Jim only glared back at him.

"Hey, what are you complaining about? You’re a goddamn hero again. Enjoy yourself, for a change."

"I will when I get home, far from all this."

Harvey laughed. "Sure you will. Oh—and guess what! I figured it out. You're nailing the new medical examiner, aren't ya?”

Jim scowled at his partner. “Jesus, Harvey! No, I'm not! And don't be gross.”

“Then why the hell would she follow you here from Arkham?”

“I don't know! That was her decision. And it's not happening, okay? Besides, it's against policy.”

“Oh, yeah, like rules ever stopped _true looove._ Or you. Cheer up, Jimbo. I guarantee there's beer on the house waiting for us at Sully's.” Sully's was a bar two blocks away, frequented by cops after their shifts.

“You go ahead and I'll meet you there.” Randall's watch was in Jim's coat pocket and the daughter’s address was scrawled on a piece of paper next to it. “I have to make a quick stop somewhere, first.”

 

///

 

Oswald arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the time he and Jim agreed upon. He couldn’t help himself. When Jim answered the knock on his door, Oswald intended to greet him with a smile, but his mouth fell open instead and his eyes widened. Jim was only in a white sleeveless undershirt and a pair of gray boxers. His hair was damp and slicked back.

"Hey, you're early. Come on in."

"H-hello, Jim. Sorry about that."

Oswald forced his feet across the threshold. He held a gift bag in one hand and his closed umbrella in the other. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold, which Jim noticed and liked. He did not like the way Oswald was panting, though. Jim's apartment was on the fourth floor, the building's highest.

Jim closed the door behind him and led him in. “I got out of the shower like five minutes ago. If you'd shown up any earlier, you'd be standing out here.”

“That's alright,” Oswald said. “I would've waited.” He tucked his umbrella under his arm, removed his gloves and stuffed them into his coat pockets.

Jim looked at the gift bag. “What’ve you got there?”

“Huh? Oh! I brought you something.”

“Oh. Really?”

Oswald pulled out a bottle of red wine and handed it to Jim. It looked expensive. It was.

“Oh, wow.” Jim said, admiring it in his hands. “Thanks, Oz. You shouldn't have.”

“I've heard it's good. I'm no sommelier, so I've had to rely on what the experts say.”

“Thank you. You really didn't have to, you know. This is a lot more than I deserve.”

“After you helped me, it seemed right to give you something in return.”

“I thought you already did that the other night,” Jim said with a smirk.

Oswald blushed; a shy smile appeared on his face and he cast his eyes downward. Jim put bottle on the kitchen counter and then returned.

“Let me hang up your coat."

“Thank you.” Oswald removed his coat, switching his umbrella from one hand to the other to get out of the sleeves and handed it to Jim. He left the umbrella leaning it against the wall.

While Jim went to the bedroom closet, Oswald stood in front of the living room radiator to warm himself up. The city snow plows displaced the snow from the streets to the sidewalk into four-foot mountains, so the cab driver had to drop Oswald off at the nearest intersection to Jim's street. He was forced to limp his way up the block to building, using his umbrella for support. And then came the stairs. But it didn't matter. He would have trudged through waist-high snow if he wanted to see Jim badly enough.

He turned when he heard Jim approaching.

“I appreciate you inviting me again. Jim.” He looked in Jim's direction but did not quite meet his eyes. “I, um…I was worried I’d ruined everything."

 _Yeah, me, too._ “Not all,” Jim said. “Everything's fine. And, if I sounded like a jerk—no, I was a complete asshole today. I'm sorry. I guess I got too sensitive with somebody disappearing on me again.”

Oswald gasped and his hand shot up to his mouth. “Oh, my God! I completely forgot about that! Oh, you must think I'm terrible!”

“No, no, it's okay!” Jim said, putting his hands on Oswald's shoulders. “Don't worry about that. That's not your problem.” He pulled him into a hug.

Oswald froze at first, but he loosened after a moment and leaned into the embrace, pressing his cheek to Jim’s shoulder. He could feel the remaining heat from the hot shower radiating from his body.

"Well, it’s nice to see you’ve warmed up to me," Jim said. He gently tilted Oswald’s head up and kissed him.

Oswald stiffened a little again, but he unwound more easily this time.

"I’m trying," he said when they separated, offering a meek smile.

"I'm going to sit down, if you don't mind” Oswald said, changing subjects. “I've had quite the trip."

“Sorry to hear that. Go right ahead.”

Jim remained where he stood. He saw by the way Oswald sighed and sank heavily into the couch that he was exhausted.

"So, what's the proper etiquette?” Jim asked. “Do I save the wine for myself, or open it now and we both have a drink?

Oswald shrugged. "Um, it's yours now, Jim. It's yours to do with as you please."

“Well. Let's have a drink, then.”

Oswald silently exhaled with relief. He had gambled on Jim sharing the wine, which aside from serving as an apology offering, would dull his nervousness.

Jim took a corkscrew out of a drawer and worked on opening the bottle. “Unfortunately, all the nice glassware was at the, uh, other place,” he said. “I just have the same ones we used before.”

“I don't mind.”

The cork came out. Jim poured the wine and brought the glasses over to the couch.

“Thank you,” Oswald said taking one.

Jim sat down and clinked his glass to Oswald's. “Cheers.”

“ _Santé_.”

They each took a sip.

“You weren't kidding,” Jim said. He reclined comfortably against the armrest on his side of the couch. “This _is_ good. Not that I know anything about wine, but I know when I like something.”

"Well, that's what matters,” Oswald replied, smiling. He gently swirled the wine in his glass and took another drink. “Someone was on TV again."

"Oh, yeah, _that_ ,” Jim groaned. “That was fun. I had to stand next to Mayor Asshole and smile the whole time while he had himself a nice photo op."

"He certainly seems to enjoy making speeches."

The press conference still left a bad taste in Jim's mouth. He thought of how Eugene Randall’s daughter cried grateful tears into his coat when he personally delivered her father’s watch to her after work. It made the public spectacle seem that much more obscene. At least there was that to remember, instead.

"Did you see how he went on about how great the GCPD is and how grateful he is for its heroes and all that? I can tell you from firsthand experience that he does not give the slightest shit. And then Loeb got to the podium and acted like he had something to do with it." Jim caught himself rambling and stopped. "Okay, that's enough of my complaining. Sorry. How do you feel?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. A little better every day. Thank you for asking."

"Of course."

“Unfortunately, I have a feeling I'll be seeing those two brutes again. When it's time for my next payment, I'm almost certain they'll come to collect just make sure I got the message.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don't worry, Jim. I won't be getting myself into further trouble. Anyway—congratulations! You must feel good about your success, at least."

“I guess so. I'm mostly glad it's over. Thanks."

"How on earth did you find him so quickly?"

"Well, to be fair, he was incredibly stupid. He got caught on a security camera trying to sell some of his loot."

Oswald tilted his head with interest. "On a camera?"

Jim recalled the young man skulking around in the security footage. "Yeah. And then his friends generously gave him to us. His prints aren’t in the system, so he’s still a John Doe for now."

"Hmm, interesting,” Oswald said, contemplatively swirling his glass again. “All the same, you should be celebrating."

"Harvey and I, along with most of the station, went to a bar after we got out. I had a beer and only stayed for like an hour. I'm sleeping in late on my day off tomorrow. That's how I'm celebrating.”

Oswald smiled. "Didn't I tell you you'd catch him? I told you!”

“You did,” Jim said. “I gotta give you that.”

“Oh, I knew you would, Jim! You big hero, you! Don't you always get your man?"

"I usually do," Jim replied, meeting Oswald's gaze from behind the rim of his glass. He could not resist.

Oswald blushed and looked away, suppressing a smile that kept trying to curl his lips despite his opposition. He evaded again. "Uh, so, are you doing anything for Christmas?"

The reaction was glaringly obvious, but Jim pretended not to see it.  "Spending it with family,” he said. “It'll be nice to get away from the city for a day. And before that, there's the GCPD Christmas Charity Ball."

“That sounds nice. Are you going alone?”

“No, I'm taking our new medical examiner. She didn't have a date, either, so I lucked out.”

Oswald replied with a hollow “Oh.”

Jim, of course, noticed the disappointment in his voice. “I'm not exactly looking forward to it. I get bored to death at those kinds of things. I'm only going because it would be weird not to after all the attention the case got.”

“Well, I'll be at home. I honestly prefer it that way. But, I can finally afford to buy my mother something nice this year.”

Jim took a drink and gestured at Oswald with his glass. "You know, I can't help but notice you're dressed a bit less...complicated than the other day."

Oswald smiled nervously, scrambling for a reply. "Oh. Yes. Well, I, um, I don't really have any clothes more casual than this." He finished his wine in one forced gulp. It was acting quickly.

"Seriously? Sheesh. My favorite part of the day is taking my suit off when I get home."

"You wear one well, though,” Oswald said. His eyes stayed on the empty glass in his hand. “Like today, you, um…” His words were a mumble by the time he finished. “You looked very handsome on TV…"

Jim’s eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry, what? I didn't hear you.”

Oswald glared back at him. "Oh, yes, you did, Jim.”

Jim smiled and hid it behind a final drink. He knew there was a limit to how much he could poke the bear.

“Let me get your glass,” he said, standing up, and went to put both in the sink. He stepped back out into the hallway and smiled softly at Oswald.

"So. You ready?"

Oswald’s stomach twisted but it did not deter him. He rose from the couch and followed Jim to the bedroom. Jim left the door slightly open a few inches wider than last time, allowing in more light.

"I'll hang up your jacket, too."

"Thank you.”

"You can leave your shoes here."

As soon as Oswald was standing in his socks, Jim put his hands around Oswald's face and kissed him. Deeply. He undid the buttons of Oswald's shirt and pushed it off of his shoulders until it pooled around his elbows. His mouth immediately sought out the uncovered skin, beginning with Oswald's neck. Oswald gasped and let his head wilt to the side, exposing more for Jim’s lips. He thought he would be stronger this time, but he could only feebly hold on to Jim. Jim kissed him down his shoulder and across his chest. In his hands, he felt the ragged, trembling breathing behind the other man's ribcage.

Oswald whimpered into Jim's ear, "Jim…I missed you," and regretted it as soon as the words escaped his lips.

Jim pushed Oswald's bangs out of his face and kissed him. "I missed you, too."

Oswald looked up at him with burning eyes and smiled gratefully.

Jim led Oswald into bed and pulled him close, kissing him softly and slowly, pausing only to remove pieces of his clothing. He took off his own own shirt and Oswald immediately pressed his hands to the bare skin, running them up Jim’s chest and along the shoulders and biceps, fingertips feeling out the hard shapes of his muscles and how they shifted with his movements. He'd wanted to touch him so badly since they last saw each other.

When Oswald was down to his boxers, Jim reached down and touched him through the fabric, making him moan. He knew not to stop this time and reached past the waistband to play with him directly.

Oswald had just enough nerve to keep his eyes open to see Jim put his mouth on him everywhere he could, taking the time to kiss and taste the skin of Oswald's torso. He put his mouth around around a nipple, licking the hard little bud of flesh until Oswald moaned. Oswald's hip bones jutted out like blades and Jim traced one with his fingers and then his lips. Then his hand and face was in Oswald's hair; his fingers threaded through it and the feathery strands tickled his nose and cheeks.

Oswald’s unruly hair was one more thing he was always teased for. He was never able to get it under control unless he practically glued it down. It seemed to be difficult just to spite him. But Jim played with it so gently and affectionately, it made him wish it would never stop.

“So, what do you want to do?” Jim asked.

Oswald drew his head back in surprise. “You're asking _me_?”

“Well, I figured that since this isn't completely unfamiliar to you anymore, you should get a say. We’ll do whatever you want.”

The last sentence made Oswald's head swim. No one ever gave a damn what he wanted. He had no answer. “Um, I think I'll still trust your judgment for now.”

“That's fine,” Jim said. He moved off of Oswald and gently rolled him on top. Oswald panicked initially, but Jim immediately raked a hand up through his hair and drew him into a kiss. His hands slid away down Oswald's back and rested on his ass, giving it a squeeze. Oswald gasped and approved it with a coy look.

He pulled at his own boxers and squirmed out them. Slowly, he took Oswald's hand and placed it on his erection. Oswald flinched, almost pulling away. Before Jim, he never even touched a man's skin where it was normally covered by clothes, let alone this. But he pushed ahead and let his trembling fingers get wrapped around it.

At least he didn't have to be shown how to do this, though the fact that it was Jim negated most of his confidence. Jim kept him partly distracted, engaging him with kisses until his hand became surer. He groaned into Oswald's mouth and neck as his pleasure grew.

“Is this…alright?” Oswald asked.

Jim looked at him warmly. “It's more than alright.”

Oswald smiled to himself. He observed Jim's reactions with interest while his hand kept working. He saw what it did to Jim and it excited him to see that he could do that. He finally felt like he regained some control, mostly over himself again.

Jim stopped him, laid him down and knelt between his legs. He leaned in and kissed the up the tender skin of each inner thigh feeling the flesh quiver where his hands held them. He then mouthed him through the fabric of his boxers and heard Oswald moan above him.

He paused and looked up at Oswald, playfully pulling at the waistband with one finger. "Did you like this last time?"

Oswald laughed shyly. "Wasn't it obvious? Who wouldn't?"

"Do you think, maybe, you’ll feel ready to return the favor, later?" Jim asked, as delicately as he could.

The blood drained from Oswald's face. "You…want me to…?"

"You don't have to, of course."

"I won’t be very good at it."

"I don’t expect you to be. Wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"Well, I can try, I suppose. I don't think I've reciprocated very much, after all. And you’ve been very patient all this time."

"Don't worry about that,” Jim said. Upon second thought, he backpedaled. “You know what? It’s okay. I brought this up too soon."

"No! No, I want to! I can't just lie here doing nothing forever, can I?"

“It’s up to you. I can wait.”

“No, I just want to do something again.”

Oswald did not like being at a disadvantage. His inexperience had started to frustrate him and Jim's kindness was painful to him. He could not understand how it made him feel so much weaker than threats or violence.

Jim smiled up at him, glad to see more progress. "Alright, then. Let's take care of you, first."

He pulled at Oswald's boxers and removed them altogether. Leaning in, he grasped Oswald’s cock and stroked it for a bit, then slowly ran his tongue up the underside and took it into his mouth.

Oswald’s head rolled back and he groaned as soon as he felt the wet warmth engulf him. Barely breathing, he twisted under the sliding mouth, eyes half-closed and turned up toward the water-stained ceiling. His moans were an absolute delight to Jim's ears and made Jim determined keep them coming. He rubbed the leaking head with his tongue and persistently pressed it into the spot just below where all the pleasure converged. He had the other hand on Oswald's thigh and he felt the constant twitching of his legs.

Oswald managed to glance down occasionally at Jim, still too abashed to look for too long, yet at one point unintentionally became transfixed. His eyes met Jim's and he was too paralyzed to turn away. He looked so vulnerable that Jim had to break eye contact first.

More and more, Oswald twisted and squirmed, clutching at the bedsheet, and his moans grew increasingly urgent until they sounded like pained whines. It was a better sight than Jim could have hoped for, watching the raw, unrestricted responses of someone who was so new to this.

He pulled off, licked his lips, and sat back on his heels. An idea came to him.

“Are you feeling adventurous?”

Oswald’s throat tightened. He quickly shoved the nervous feeling aside. “I might. What do you have in mind?”

“Hold on a second.” Jim crawled away and opened a drawer in his nightstand. With the lights off and no bedside lamp, he had to rifle loudly through it in the dark. He found it: a nearly empty tube of lubricant; he also took out a condom, and then returned to sit in the same spot.

“Jim, what are we doing?”

Jim pressed a finger palm-up to Oswald’s opening and massaged around it, making Oswald jump.

“I know where I can touch you to make you feel really, really good that we haven't tried yet. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“Yes…no.”

“Well, uh, it's inside you.” Jim took a quick downward look.

It took Oswald a few seconds to answer. “Uh, okaaay…”

“I can reach it, though.” Oswald huffed indignantly and made an _are-you-freaking-kidding-me?_ face and Jim rushed to reassure him. “Look, I know it sounds weird, but it's worth it. Trust me. I wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t want done to me. And I'll use lube."

Oswald took another moment to consider the offer. “It'll feel good?”

“Mind-blowing, actually.”

“Oh. Is it something _you_ like?”

“It is.”

Oswald swallowed with a dry throat. “Fine. Do it.”

“Okay, then.” Jim opened the condom package and put the condom over his index finger. He uncapped the lube and applied it generously, and rubbed some of the dripping excess onto Oswald’s entrance. Oswald was trying not to tremble or appear nervous and was failing at both. Jim put his other hand on Oswald's thigh and gave it a soothing caress. “Tell me if you want me to stop at any moment. Don't get tough on me, okay?”

“I'll be more than happy to tell you if you're doing something I don't like.”

“That's the spirit. Alright.” _Here goes nothing_ , Jim thought, which was the same thing he said to himself the first time he ran into a gunfight with a rifle in his hands.

While Oswald braced himself, Jim carefully eased the tip of his index finger in. Oswald groaned, and Jim almost took his hand away, but stopped himself.

“You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Oswald said.

Jim kept pressing, a little bit at a time, and Oswald groaned each time, sometimes hissing through his teeth or unintentionally contracting around Jim’s finger.

“Try to relax or you'll keep clenching,” Jim said, stroking Oswald's thigh again. Oswald was impossibly, achingly tight, and _God_ , did Jim want to sink his cock into him.

Jim felt for the spot he was looking for. He knew for sure he'd located it when Oswald gasped and his hips jerked.

“ _Oh, my God!_ ”

“Told you.”

Oswald’s eyes rolled back and he released a strained groan, his body arching and going rigid and clenching inside, then slackening back into the mattress. Jim massaged the spot carefully, watching Oswald moan and squirm. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Most of his shock was not even at the reactions; he'd seen enough women in the throes of ecstasy. It was seeing _Oswald_ lose his mind and then knowing he could be leveled so easily. All that pretense and elegant veneer fell away, leaving only need.

“Jim!” he cried weakly.

“Yeah?”

“Touch me! _Please!_ ”

Jim forgot what he was doing for a few seconds. _Please?_ Did Oswald just _beg_? Nonetheless, he decided to deal with his incredulity later. He put his hand around Oswald's cock and stroked.

Oswald's hips started to rock against the movement inside him. His hands grabbed at the lower corners of the pillow beneath his head and pulled. His moans were not loud, but they were _intense_. They sounded so obscene that Jim blushed in his presence for the first time. Not in a million years could Jim imagine he would see him like this. He put his lips on Oswald's cock again, sucking him to the very end.

“Jim, I’m— _ohhh_ , ffff— _fuck!_ ” Their eyes met for a split-second, both surprised at what had burst from Oswald's mouth. And then Oswald was crying out and erupting into Jim's mouth with the hardest orgasm he ever had.

Jim stayed on him until he was spent and then pulled off.

Oswald heaved for breath, his chest expanding and falling like a bellows. The last time he'd struggled for air this much, he’d pulled himself out of a river. He looked up curiously, noticing that and saw Jim wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Huh,” Jim said to himself. “Haven't done that in while.”

Oswald's face twisted in revulsion. “Did you just—?”

“You didn't like the mess last time.”

“That's disgusting.”

Jim laughed. “I can't win with you, can I?” He moved closer to Oswald and aimed for a kiss.

Oswald winced and turned away. “ _Ugh_ , Jim!”

“Oh, come on. _I_ would, if it were you. So, uh, what do you think? Did you like that?"

"That was amazing," Oswald replied, still out of breath. "You were right. Thank you, Jim."

Jim bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. No one informed Oswald that people do not usually thank each other formally after sex.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you curse before. Not even a ‘damn’ or ‘hell.’” Jim was rather proud of himself for eliciting that response.

“I prefer not to. It’s boorish. Do I look like a dock worker?”

“Oh, give me a break.” _Fake it until you make it, huh?_ Jim thought. _Put those airs on until they're legit, someday. God, that has to be tiring_.

“So, now I'm supposed to follow all of that?”

“We all start somewhere. Just do whatever you feel like.”

“Can you please give me another minute? I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's a hell of an ego boost seeing you've left someone breathless.”

Oswald laughed, and so did Jim.

Taking one more heavy breath, Oswald said, sat where Jim had been. With shaky fingers, he grasped Jim's cock, leaned in, and closed his lips over it. It was slick and rock-hard in his mouth, and thick enough to give his inexperienced lips a good stretch.

Jim almost told Oswald to stop right then and forget it, just to spare him the awkwardness, but it would have only made things worse. And there was something undeniably arousing about watching someone do it for the first time, especially when that someone was Oswald. So much bravado, so many notches on his knife, and there he was, _Penguin_ , nervously taking his first cock into his virgin mouth.

Nonetheless, Jim closed his eyes, guessing that Oswald didn't want to be watched. He was right. Oswald glanced up, relieved to see Jim with his eyes shut and his head lying to the side. Smiling.

He gave his best effort, trying as much as he could to recreate what Jim had done to him, at least in those moments when he could think straight enough to take notice. It was as clumsy and awkward as his first kisses, but Jim recalled that he got the hang of that pretty quickly.

Oswald's mouth started out bone-dry, but the saliva soon flowed on its own, making it easier to move his lips. He couldn't get them much farther past the head before his throat reacted. He felt Jim's fingers pass through his hair and play with it and found it very calming.

“Use your hand,” he heard Jim say in a low rumble. Oswald took the advice and stroked the shaft where his mouth couldn't reach. “Good. Just like that.”

Oswald eventually had to pull off. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"My jaw hurts."

Jim allowed himself a chuckle. “Yeah, that'll happen if you're not used to it. Don't worry about it. How about you finish up with your hand?”

He had Oswald lie beside him and reach down to stroke him. Oswald hid his face in Jim's shoulder and focused entirely on what his hand did.

Jim didn't have a thing for hands. He only looked at another person’s for distinguishing marks to note in a file or if they were shaking, a sure sign of lying. But Oswald's were remarkably elegant. They weren't immaculate, but they came close. Oswald played the part of a gentleman, but Jim knew he'd used them for work as much as anyone. When he had the nerve, he seemed to touch him as though he were trying to memorize him through his fingertips, like it was the last time he would have the chance. Jim hoped it wouldn't be long before he was using his hands on him more boldly.

Lucky for Oswald, Jim wasn't difficult to please. He looked up to watch Jim jerk his hips and unload with a groan, and then let go of him.

Oswald frowned with dissatisfaction. "That was pathetic, wasn't it?"

"Oh, stop it,” Jim said. He reached for a box of tissues on the nightstand and cleaned himself up. “You got the job done on your first try. How can you expect to do anything perfectly this soon?"

“I guess you're right,” Oswald conceded glumly.

“You can practice as much as you like,” Jim said, cocking an eyebrow.

Oswald looked away bashfully. “You enjoy making me uncomfortable. Is that your revenge for all the times I've paid you an unannounced visit?”

“Partly. But, mostly because I like seeing you blush.”

“You like seeing me embarrassed.”

“I like seeing you smile.”

Right on cue, Oswald reddened, visibly pursing his lips, trying not give Jim the satisfaction.

“There it is,” Jim said. He shifted closer to him, hoping Oswald would return the gesture somehow.

“I did not expect to learn so much about you, Jim.”

“What do you mean?”

“This evening has been…revelatory, to say the least. I feel as though I've met a another you.”

“Funny you should say that. I feel exactly the same way about you. And congratulations to you, this time.”

“Oh, please,” Oswald sniffed, thinking Jim was making fun of him.

“Hey, if it was the first time I ever made another man come, all of my own doing, I'd be feeling pretty good right now.”

Oswald considered it for a moment  and then his demeanor changed. His fingers came up to his lips. “Oh! I hadn't thought of that. I suppose you're right. Huh.”

“See?”

When a few silent beats passed, Oswald turned himself slightly toward Jim and put a hand on his arm. Jim smiled at him tenderly. But, then he noticed a shade of melancholy in Oswald's expression when their eyes met.

“Jim, why are you so nice to me?”

“ _Why?_ ” Jim exclaimed. “Why shouldn't I be? I want to!”

“But, it wasn't always like this. You've been a bit, well, surly with me until now. You've always pushed me away.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Jim said dolefully. “I'm sorry, Oswald. For all of it.”

“Water under the bridge, Jim.”

“You see, when I went to see you at your nightclub, and saw you were all beat up, it made me so angry. I hate bullies and I hate anyone who won't pick on someone their own size. It just, well, it broke my heart. I couldn't stand seeing you that way.”

“I didn't know you felt that way,” Oswald replied. “Jim, about the other day…”

“Oz, you’ve apologized enough. It’s okay.”

“No, please listen, Jim. I need to explain. I woke up that morning and saw you still asleep. I had no idea what I would say to when you woke up or if you even wanted me there at all. I thought maybe _you_ changed your mind about the night before and you wouldn't be very happy to see me. So, I decided to avoid the possibility altogether.”

“I'm sorry, Oz.”

“For what?”

“You wouldn't have felt that way if I hadn't been as asshole.”

“Why don't we say we're even?”

“Deal.”

“Want to hear something funny? I had to come up with an excuse for my mother for why I came home in the morning. She almost called the police again.”

“Oh,” Jim said flatly. Hilarious. The last time Oswald went missing, it almost ended very badly for Jim.

“She saw me come in with my hair a mess and my clothes wrinkled. She thought I'd spent the night in the clutches of some tramp.”

“Ha—wait, _what_?”

Oswald sighed sadly. "I’m not supposed to be this way."

"What the hell does that mean?"

“She expects me to settle down with nice girl and give her lots of grandchildren.”

Jim blinked several times. “Are you serious? She doesn’t know? How could she not know?”

Oswald replied wistfully, “My mother is a loving, kind-hearted woman, but she can be very naive. She sees what she wants to see. You're the only person in the world who really knows. Oh, I'm sure others have their suspicions and laugh about it behind my back. But only you know for certain.”

“I can't help but feel I kind of forced you into that.”

“Oh, no! No, you shouldn't be sorry, Jim. I'm glad you did. I'm not very good at disclosing personal things, as you may have guessed. If you hadn't, well, I wouldn't be here.” Oswald smiled at Jim and gave his arm an affirming squeeze.

“So what did you tell her?”

“That I was roughed up again and was unconscious all night.”

“So you'd rather say you were assaulted than spent the night with someone, not even a woman?”

“And where would I procure this fake girlfriend, Jim? My mother would _love_ to meet her, and not for dinner, I can assure you.”

Jim said nothing and let the subject die. Oswald's personal issues were more than he could take on right now, and he did not exactly think it was his place to intrude too far. He considered it a miracle that Oswald had been as forthcoming as he was.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asked.

“I ate before I left.”

“Well, you will be, and I'm hungry already. I'm going to have to order something, though, since my fridge has nothing but water and beer in it. What would you like? I have like twenty take-out menus.”

Oswald shrugged. “Whatever you're having.”

“How about Chinese? The place I usually get it from is pretty good.”

“That's fine.”

Jim found his underwear and shirt under the covers and put them on. “I'll get the menu.”

Oswald sat up. “Wait,” Oswald said. He sat up. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Go ahead! You don't have to ask.”

“I just need to find my…” Oswald scanned the bed for his boxers. “There they are.” He slipped them on.

“Hold on a second,” Jim said. “He walked to his dresser and opened a drawer. “Let me get you something comfortable to wear.” He pulled out a navy-blue T-shirt and tossed it to Oswald.

“Thank you,” Oswald said, and put it on. It hung loosely on his narrow frame. He noticed Jim smiling, clearly with amusement. “What's so funny?”

“It's just, seeing you in normal clothes, you know.”

“What's abnormal about how I dress?”

“Uhh…nothing. I'm going to get you that menu.”

 

///

 

They finished the wine with their meal. One of the most expensive bottles from Oswald's bar had accompanied cheap takeout. Normally, he would find the idea thoroughly offensive, but he had drunk too much of it and was in too good a mood to care. He was with Jim, which was all that mattered, and he knew what was awaiting him afterward.

Jim sat at the foot of the bed and pulled Oswald into his lap. They rid themselves of their shirts and their mouths collided, kissing with a renewed hunger. Whether it was the wine or the few more barriers that had been broken earlier, Jim did not know; he just knew something had peeled away several layers of Oswald's inhibitions. And he was thrilled to see it. His hands wandered all over Oswald, feeling, caressing, pleasuring. Oswald planted his face in Jim's neck and began to bounce restlessly in his lap, which made Jim decide it was a good time for them to strip down to nothing. He held Oswald by the thighs as Oswald rocked into him, both of them groaning each time their thrusts met.

Jim fell back, taking Oswald with him and bringing him in for a kiss. Oswald sloppily put his mouth to Jim's chest, leaving saliva kiss-prints and dragging his teeth across the skin. Then he was at Jim's neck again, kissing, sucking, nibbling, guaranteeing to leave a mark on him. He caught some skin between his teeth and bit down.

Jim cried out. “ _Ah!_ You bit me, you shit!” His hand flew up to his neck and Oswald flinched away, expecting it to connect with his face.

He covered his mouth in horror. “Oh, my God! Jim! I'm so sorry!”

Jim rubbed the sore spot. “Eh, ’salright,” he slurred. “Sorry I yelled.”

“Huh?”

“It's fine. I don't mind a little love bite now and then, but try not to actually, like, rip a piece out of me.”

“You're not mad?”

“What? Naaah. I love your enthusiasm, though. I thought it would take you longer to get here. What do you want to do now?”

“You're asking me, again?”

“You have a few more options now. Take your pick.”

“Are you normally so patient and generous with your lovers?”

“You're a special case.”

“Because I'm new to this?”

“That's one reason. Decided yet?”

“Uh, well, can you…you know, with your mouth?” He glanced downward.

“What, a blowjob?”

“Yes. Please. I mean, if you don't mind. You already did it—”

Jim snorted. “Oz, I'll blow you all night if that's what you want. There's no limit, dummy.”

Oswald smiled with a drowsy satisfaction. “It's funny. I thought _I'd_ be the bad influence on _you_.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jim said, grinning. He moved off of Oswald and slid backwards onto the floor, pulling Oswald's arm until he was sitting up.

Oswald blinked several times, unable to believe Jim Gordon was really down on the floor, kneeling before him.

“Don't look so surprised,” Jim said. “Isn't this what you really want, to see me down on my knees?” He drunkenly swayed a little back and forth.

“Maybe, maybe not, maybe...” Oswald forgot to finish the rest.

“Yeah, well, don't get too cocky,” Jim added. “It's gonna be you down here, next time.”

“That's fair,” Oswald replied, as nonchalantly as he could.

Jim took notice of Oswald's bad leg. He put his hand on the ankle, where the foot started to twist out slightly to the side. Oswald pulled it away, wishing he could hide it completely.

“You can get this fixed, you know,” Jim said.

“I didn't ask for attention to my _leg_ , Jim.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. Mostly when it's cold.”

Jim put both hands around the ankle and started massaging it.

“That doesn't do anything, stupid,” Oswald said, annoyed. “It healed wrong. You’re not gonna fix it. Stupid...stupid.”

“You said you were cold. I'm warming it up. You should have asked me for socks.”

Oswald's cheeks burned. That detestable weak feeling returned. Jim's kindness was more than he could take. Below him, Jim released his foot and kiss up his inner thigh, and then finally gripped Oswald's cock and drew it past his lips.

Oswald’s mouth fell open with a moan. He had to support himself with one hand behind him on the bed. The the other reached down to tangle through Jim's hair. Whimpers tumbled out of his mouth on the air of his breaths.

Jim released him after a few minutes with a wet slurp. “Turn over on your belly.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lie down on your belly.”

“Oh, fine.” Oswald said, hiding his apprehension, and did as he was told.

Jim yanked him closer to the edge of the bed and pushed his thighs apart. And then both of his hands were gripping Oswald's buttocks and spreading them. Jim's tongue probed between them and found his opening.

Oswald's eyes flew open. Rather than jolt, his body rooted itself where he lay. He shuddered and his breath came out choked. It took a lot to shock him, but this sure did it, even with alcohol circulating in his blood. His face flared red as a sunburn.

He could only whimper as Jim whirled the tip of his tongue in circles around the tight hole, teasing the puckered flesh. His fists bunched the bed sheet beneath and he tried to remain still, but his legs refused to stop trembling while Jim went on, methodically licking and massaging the sensitive flesh until spit ran down his chin.

And then he stopped. Oswald turned over and stared at him in wonder. _Who_ are _you?_ He completely forgot to mind where Jim's mouth had been and they resumed their wine-fueled affections in bed.

Jim played with Oswald's hair again, though much less gracefully. “I _love_ your hair,” he murmured, pressing his nose into it.

“Really?” Oswald asked with more earnestness than he would ever allow without alcohol.

“Really! It's just so _you_ , you know.”

Oswald reached up to touch the strands of blond falling over Jim's forehead. “I like yours the way it is now, longer. It was a bit…oh, dear, what's the word I'm looking for? Oh, never mind. I'll be very upset if you cut it.”

“Okay,” Jim said. “No more haircuts.”

Jim paused and drew back to get a better look at Oswald. He cupped the side of his face and gently caressed his cheek.

“God, you're beautiful.”

Oswald sobered up in an instant. His eyes began to sting and he had to close them. There was no smile or blush, only a frightened aversion to the other man’s gaze. If he were to look back at him for even a second—

 _No_. Jim was drunk, blathering nonsense. There was no other way, thus nothing to worry about. If only he would stop looking at him. And please don't say anything.

The universe deigned to give him a reprieve at that moment.

“Alright, let's do this,” Jim said, sitting up. He patted his legs. “Hop on.”

Relieved, Oswald clambered into Jim’s lap and wrapped his arms around him, glad to hide his face in Jim's shoulder. He felt Jim's hands on his waist, pulling him closer, and then grabbed his ass. They ground into each other, their hard cocks sliding together between their bellies.

“God,” Jim muttered absently into Oswald’s neck. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

He was almost incoherent with his lips pressing into skin and his voice barely above a whisper, but Oswald heard him clearly and went pale for a moment. He had no idea how to respond, but fortunately Jim carried on as though he said nothing. It seemed to Oswald as though Jim was not aware of he said at all, which he was thankful for. His thoughts turned to the way Jim was kissing his ear.

He then took both their cocks into his grip and stroked them. Oswald gasped and couldn't help thrusting his hips into Jim's moving hand. He held Jim tightly around the shoulders, fingers digging deeper into his flesh. Jim worked them faster and faster while the rate of their groans followed the pace. One by one, they came, Oswald crying out first, his hips jerking frenziedly, both spurting over Jim’s hand and onto each other.

Oswald fell forward into Jim and Jim fell back, pulling Oswald down with him again with a bounce.

“Sorry,” Jim said amid his panting. “It got all over us.”

“Eh. I'll get used to it.”

After about a minute, Jim gently pushed Oswald off. Cleaned himself up with more tissues and got up.

“Hey, I'll be right back.”

He returned with two glasses of water. “Here. Drink this. Hangover prevention.”

Oswald sat up and took a glass. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

“I'd like to use your shower, if it's alright.”

“Go ahead. Let me get you a towel. Then I'll go right after you.”

Later, as Jim was heading for the kitchen, he caught the sound of Oswald humming a tune from inside the bathroom. It was “Heart and Soul.” It seemed, to Jim, oddly sentimental for someone like him.

 

///

 

Morning. Jim opened his eyes. He turned his head and found Oswald looking at him with his face half-hidden in his pillow and the covers up to his chin. He was lovely in the clarity of day.

“Good morning, Jim,” Oswald said.

Jim smiled sleepily at him. “Hey, handsome.”

Oswald smiled back and hid more of his face.

Jim reached up and put his hand to Oswald's cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “You're still here.”

“I am. Are you glad?”

“Extremely. Come over here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since the ship is having a bad time right now, I decided to break up a long chapter in half and offer a distraction. The next will arrive soon and ought to make everyone happy. ;)

“You lying son of a bitch!”

Jim wheeled around to see Harvey approaching, squinting at him. “ _What?_ ”

“What the hell is that on your neck, young man?”

Jim groaned. He had hoped his shirt collar was high enough to hide the blotchy evidence of Oswald's enthusiasm from the night before.

“A-ha! I knew it! I fucking knew it! You and the doct—”

“No! It wasn't her!” Jim replied in a heightened whisper. “Lower your goddamn voice! It wasn't her, okay? I—I've been seeing someone else. There! Happy? Why the hell do you care, anyway?”

Harvey leaned in and with sarcastic earnestness said, “Because you're a rookie, Jim, and it's my sworn duty as your partner and an officer of the law to give you a hard time. I'd be disgracing the badge if I didn't bust your balls every once in a while.”

“In a _while_?”

“So, are you still taking her to the charity ball thing on Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh? And not your new girlfriend?”

“It's kind of a non-commitment thing, so…that's not really a problem.”

“Say no more,” Harvey said. He put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Good for you, Jim. If men were meant to have strings, we'd have been marionettes instead.” He gave Jim's shoulder a few friendly pats.

Jim looked at Harvey with a _what-the-fuck?_ face and then shrugged him off. “Uhhh, okay, then. Whatever that means.”

He noticed the bags under Harvey's eyes and how he wobbled slightly when he straightened up. Someone had been celebrating into the wee hours. Hungover, but still well enough to be annoying.

“By the looks of it,” Harvey added, looking at Jim's neck again, “she's some kind of wildcat. Be careful. Don't stick it in crazy.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you know what? I'm not listening to you anymore.” He sat down at his desk and turned his back to Harvey, tugging his collar up.

There were gaps in his memory of last night, but he remembered most of it. Two drinks max from now on. He had nothing to regret this morning, but next time might not be so lucky, especially with Oswald as his drinking partner. Good God. The last place he ever expected to end up was on his knees with his tongue in Oswald's—

“So, what does she look like?”

Jim kept his eyes forward. “None of your business, Bullock. And that’s the last time I’m talking about it. By the way, you look like crap. What time did you get home last night?”

“Uh, what time was sunrise?”

 

☂☂☂

 

Sure enough, Talky and his silent friend came to collect a few days later.

Oswald sat behind his desk, staring at the envelope of money in front of him. Falcone’s “fine” was going to put a massive dent in the upcoming month's budget and Oswald had to figure out a way to compensate for the loss and then make the next payment.

But, despite that weighing on him, all he could think of was Jim. His “fondness” for Jim was bothersome sometimes. He kept waiting for Jim to give him an authentic reason to hate him, but he never did.

That thing Jim said. Not the dirty one, the nice one (although the former was its own issue which he was nowhere near ready to address). It played on a loop in his head and he hurt every time he thought of it. Jim had been no less drunk than Oswald, but when he said it, his eyes were unmistakably lucid and sharp with honesty.

He once had Jim for a fool, took a bet on him being a sap who would spare his life that day on the dock because of that tedious goodness he had to uphold. But he was only partially right. Jim was more complicated. He was not afraid to bend or break rules (or bones) if it was for “the right thing,” whatever that happened to be. And yet, he was somehow incorruptible. He balked at authority and the hands that fed him, even to his own loss. He was his only bad influence. Oswald had tried to pierce that armor, but failed every time and had in turn been undone.

Jim was never supposed to actually want him. That was never in any of his plans. He was never supposed to care about Jim this much, either. And worst of all, it did not trouble him as much as he thought it should.

A knock on the door made him jump in his chair.

“Come in,” he said.

Oswald's new right-hand man Gabe opened the door and let the two men into the office.

“Thank you, Gabe.”

Gabe nodded to him, indicating that he would be right outside. Oswald nodded back. The worry on Gabe's face did little to put Oswald at ease. Gabe was a tall, bulky man himself, but the even-taller silent one had managed to intimidate _him_.

It was not until he saw the larger of the two goons passing through the door that he had a true idea of how big he was. The man was colossal. Oswald sincerely wondered if it was some sort of glandular condition. His face had skin the texture of stucco and a large lumpy potato of a nose in the middle that looked more like an aberrant growth.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” he said flatly, doing his best to conceal his dread. The only thing that gave him any reassurance while being alone with them was the gun in the hidden compartment under the desk, right near the edge where he could grab it quickly. But they were undoubtedly armed as well and a bullet might be little more than a bee sting for the Brute.

“Hello, birdman!” said Talky. “How you been doin’ lately?” He grinned, showing that he knew perfectly well how Oswald felt since their first encounter.

Oswald forced only the barest minimum of politeness into his reply. “I'm fine. Thank you.” He skipped the usual courtesy and offers of refreshments he gave everyone. They could not leave soon enough.

He pushed the envelope toward the front edge of the desk. “Well. It's all there. I guarantee it.”

Talky picked it up, pulled the bills out partway and flipped the edges with his thumb. “Better be.”

“I assure you it is,” Oswald said. He shifted in his seat as if to imply their visit was at an end. “Well, I believe everything is in order.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Talky said, putting a hand up. “Slow down. We just got here. We got good news for you. The Don had a change of heart and lowered his take to an extra 10%, starting next month. That bigger hike was just to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh. How very magnanimous of him. Please convey my gratitude.”

“Yeah, sure, Penguin.”

Oswald smirked. Talky was too dense for sarcasm. He intertwined his fingers and laid them on the desk, leaning forward. “Gentlemen,” he said, speaking more amiably, “I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I never got your names.”

“Our names? _Ha-ha!_ I'm Fuck and this is my friend, You.”

Oswald smiled slightly, suppressing his anger. _Forget the legal way. I'm going to take special care carving you up._

“Ahhh, I'm just fuckin’ with you, Penguin! I'm Rocco and this is Luca. Good? Good. We’re all good friends now.”

Quizzically, Oswald looked at Rocco, then up at Luca, and then back at Rocco. “Does your friend speak English?”

Rocco took an abrupt step forward. “What? You trying to say he's stupid or somethin’?”

“No, no!” Oswald cried, putting his hands up. “Not at all! H-he hasn't said a word, so I thought maybe he was from somewhere else.”

“Well, he ain't! He's what they call a man of few words, unlike some ugly ass-kissin’ punks with their ten-dollar words who don't know when to shut the fuck up.”

It took all of Oswald's will not to lash out at them. But that was certain death. He could only absorb the verbal blows while his face turned scarlet.

Rocco was not finished. “Hey, you know what? You're not a penguin! You're like one of those parrots that talks all the time. Yeah! You even got the feathers on your head with that stupid hair!” He laughed loudly at his own joke. “Ain't that right, Luc?”

Luca made a sound for the first time, a low, guttural laugh that sounded like broken glass on gravel. He smiled, showing big, gray-yellow teeth. Oswald recoiled. Few men had ever genuinely unsettled him this much.

“You know, birdman,” Rocco continued, “this is a nice joint you got here. We oughta come by more often. Yeah, I think we will. Maybe make it our new favorite spot.”

Oswald’s hand slowly started to move toward the edge of the desk.

“Well, we gotta go, Penguin. Keep your big beaky nose clean and you won't have any more trouble from us. I'm pretty bad, but my friend here is very creative with how he takes care of people.”

Oswald's eyebrows rose, more out of interest than fear.

At last, they turned to leave. “See ya next month, Penguin! Maybe sooner. Merry Christmas!”

“And to you as well,” Oswald muttered through gritted teeth.

They were gone.

Gabe peeked in after they turned the corner at the end of the hall. “Everything okay, Boss?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

The door closed and he was alone again. He was shaking with rage and tears gathered in his eyes. He shut them and forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily until he was calm. When he reopened them, he looked up to the tiny camera hidden in the ceiling lamp and smiled contentedly. _Gotcha_.

He would wait just a little longer. But if Jim wanted to get this monster, he had better hurry up. His patience was wearing thin.

 

☂☂☂

 

There was no return address on the small white envelope Jim found in his mailbox, but based on the neat cursive his address was written in, he was certain it was from Oswald. He was correct. There was a small solid object inside, which turned out to be a flash drive. There was also a brief note.

_Please contact me as soon as possible. Thank you._

_—O.C.C._

Jim sighed with an amused shake of his head and texted Oswald. A few minutes later, his phone rang.

“Hey.”

“Jim!”

“I got your little gift. What's on it?”

“Jim, those fiends came yesterday just like I thought! They were so terrible to me! They mocked me right to my face.”

“Oh, God! Did they hurt you?

“No, fortunately. But, guess what! I recorded them. _On video_.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jim asked. To him, Oswald sounded like a little boy who finally discovered how to button his own pants.

“I went to one of those spy equipment stores where they sell nanny-cams and listening devices. Can you believe they sell those things to anyone?”

Jim withheld an automatic groan. He knew where Oswald got the idea to do this. That was the last time he was going to discuss work with him.

“Well, I didn't know how any of that stuff works, so I got one of the men there to set it up for me.”

“Oz…you didn't threaten him did you?”

Oswald scoffed. “What? No! I paid him for it. Why would you think that?”

“Uh, never mind. I'll give this a look tomorrow.”

“Jim,” Oswald said in a quieter voice, “no one can see this. It's humiliating.”

“Of course. I’ll give it back to you the next time I see you.”

“In that case, I think you can guess what I want to ask you.” Oswald winced as soon as he said the words—far too eagerly. He closed his eyes and his head fell forward. He hated himself in that moment.

Powerlessness was the worst thing of all. He had known it all his life and vowed never to feel it again, and never give anyone the chance to get near enough to inflict it on him. But all he wanted to do was go across town and _beg_ for what only Jim could give him, and then find himself shamed again by how easily Jim gave it away.

“And I'll give you the same answer I always do,” Jim replied. “I'll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Alright.”

“Meanwhile, just lay low and stay out of trouble. I don't want to see you get hurt again, Oz.”

Whether the conversation continued after this or not, Oswald could not recall. His mind had folded in on itself.

 

☂☂☂

 

Jim bribed the computer forensics guy for 15 minutes alone in the tech lab. He opened the sole file on the flash drive, a video, and watched.

Oswald wasn't kidding when he said the tall guy was a monster. He was definitely over six feet tall and almost as wide as the door he lumbered through.

And then he heard the taunting and the insults. That Oswald managed to keep his temper in check was impressive. But being entrusted something so mortifying was even more unbelievable. Jim never imagined Oswald would have that much faith in anyone, even him.

He wished he had been there to shut the mouthy one up with his fist. But what about Frankenstein? Could he take him? He was not overly optimistic on that point.

When the video ended, he went back through a few frames, picked one where their faces were clear and fully visible, and printed several copies. He then logged into the police database and looked for them. Rocco had the usual mob underling charges: extortion, smuggling, and so forth, but as is the norm in Gotham City, he skated on them because whom he worked for had very good, highly-paid lawyers. But Luca: nothing. Zip. He did not even exist, according to Gotham City records.

When he was finished, he returned to his desk and put the photos and the drive into a drawer.

“Hey!”

Jim jumped. He turned and saw it was Harvey.

“Oh! Hey.”

“I was looking for you. The Captain wants to talk to us.”

The two entered Captain Essen’s office. Essen stood behind her desk, holding a report file.

“Our bank robbers were caught last night trying to get into Canada,” she said.

“Alright!” Harvey cheered. “Good going, FBI—with us doing most of the work, _of course_.”

“That’s great,” Jim said, just glad to see the last loose end tied.

Essen provided the details. “The three of them split up into two and one in stolen cars, but one of the owners was able to report his as missing right away, so border cops already had its plate numbers by the time they got there.”

She seemed rather grim when she spoke and Jim noticed. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”

“Well, it gets kind of depressing. The leader, it turns out, was the brother of the old man’s killer, and he’s also the one who killed _him_.”

“ _What?_ ” both of the detectives exclaimed.

“Son of a bitch...” Harvey added, muttering in astonishment.

Essen handed Jim and Harvey a few pages from the FBI report for their perusal.

“They're all originally from Blüdhaven. The killer-slash-vic is one Michael “Mickey” Sutton. Originally, it was Charles “Charlie” Sutton, the two others and a fourth guy. Worked their way up from break-ins to armed robbery of convenience stores, then decided banks were next. Complete screw-up on the first try. No money and one of them got shot by a security guard. The other three got away and decided to try their luck here. But they were one short for a four-man team.”

“So, Charlie got his little brother to join,” Jim said, reading the report.

Essen nodded. “Little brother with a very short fuse. Plenty of juvenile and adult offenses in his file, especially assault. Charlie never involved Mickey in his jobs before this because he was too unpredictable and violent. Nobody was supposed to die at that bank. The sad part is that in his confession, he actually sounded remorseful.”

“God, what a mess,” Harvey said bitterly. “Sorry or not, he still slit his throat and threw him away like trash. Chose money over his kid brother.”

Jim said, “You know, I read in the previous report that the slash went from left to right, so he did it from behind. Probably couldn't look him in the face.”

“Well,” Essen said, “if it makes you two feel any better, he broke down and cried during the interrogation. He said he did it because, and I quote, ‘If anyone was gonna do him in, it was gonna be me.’”

Harvey scoffed and crossed his arms. “That’s love alright. Jesus Christ. Who the hell can you trust if not your own family?”

“He should never have got him in on the job in the first place,” Essen replied. “The kid sounds like he was a time bomb.”

“The mistake goes back to thinking you can trust anyone at all if you're a criminal or dealing with one. Sooner or later, somebody will fuck you over. Oh! Sorry, Captain.”

Jim said nothing.

“Alright, we’re done here,” Essen said. “And stay on your toes for the next few days. Things always get hairy around the holidays. Christmas does things to people.”

 

☂☂☂

 

_Shots fired at private residence. Possible homicide. Children at location._

“I'm gonna kill this guy for making me run on ice!”

“Not if I kill him first, Harv!”

Neighbors overheard a loud argument between the couple next door. The wife screamed, and then there were gunshots. The cops had been called to their apartment many times over the years, but she never pressed charges. Their two kids, a boy and a girl, saw all of it unfold before their frightened eyes.

Jim and Harvey found the husband hiding at a friend's place. He fled down the fire escape and now the detectives were enjoying a brisk sprint chasing him.

The perp turned and fired his revolver at them, missing. He shoved pedestrians out of his way, while others ran in terror out of his path. There was a garbage can near the edge of the sidewalk; he overturned it and sent it rolling towards the detectives.

Jim leapt over it. Harvey didn't. He fell and went sliding forward several feet on the sidewalk.

“Harvey!”

“Forget it! Go get that hump!”

The man made an abrupt turn into a side street. Bad decision. A padlocked chain link fence made his feet skid to a stop. He turned and pointed his gun at Jim, who had appeared at the other end of the alley, pointing his own gun at him.

“It's over. Put the gun down. It'll be a lot better for you if you come quietly.”

“Fuck you!” The man shot at Jim, once, twice, three times. The gun clicked. Not a single hit. He angrily threw the gun away.

“You're a terrible shot,” Jim said. “I, on the other hand, am not. Now, put your hands on your head and get on the ground.”

The man noticed a door into the building on his right. It would only take him a second to get to it and maybe close it behind him, if he were lucky. He all but dove for it. His fingers were a hair’s breadth from the knob when the brick of the exterior wall exploded in a spot mere inches from his head.

“Nice try,” Jim said. “I told you. Now, get on the ground. Hands where I can see them.”

The husband glowered at Jim with pure hate and got on his knees, lacing his fingers together on the back of his head.

“Takes a _reeaal_ man to hit a woman. And shoot her unarmed,” Jim said, walking over to the perp. “You're going to have a fun time in Blackgate, tough guy.” He stood behind him and put the first handcuff on his wrist, while beginning to read him his rights.

Jim only got to “remain silent” before the man elbowed him hard in the gut and rose to run. Jim had the wind knocked out of him, but recovered quickly. He caught up with the man and grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him hard. The man spun around and clocked him in the face. Jim staggered back, but it was only a second before he blinked a few times and regained both his footing and his focus. He had been taught to ignore pain and move even harder through it.

_Stupid. You should've seen that coming._

Luckily, the enraged man swung at Jim's face again. Jim swerved out of the fist’s path, grabbed the arm with his left hand and punched him with the right. And again. And on the third time, he felt cartilage crush under his knuckles. He pulled the man's head down by the neck and kneed him in the stomach. Gripping the arm again, he threw him to the ground and twisted the shoulder with both hands. There was tearing sound and a crunch, and the man howled in agony.

“Not so fun when it's not someone weaker than you, is it, you piece of shit?”

Jim was about to break his elbow when heard Harvey call out.

“Jim! Hey, what do you think you're doing?”

On the ground, the man was glad the other cop had arrived to put a stop to this maniac. He sputtered and coughed with the blood that poured like an open faucet over his mouth and down his throat.

“You left nothing for me?”

The man’s hopes were dashed.

Jim let the arm drop and and stood with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. The adrenaline was wearing off and his injuries were making themselves known. “Help yourself,” he said and pushed the man roughly onto his back with a foot.

Harvey bent over the man. “Say goodnight, Gracie.” He knocked him out with one solid punch. “Asshole. Making me exercise on a Friday.” He straightened up, rubbing his hand. “Hey, did I ever tell you I was a boxer?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Really! For about a week. I couldn't stand the thought of ruining this face.” Harvey looked down at the unconscious man. His whole face was a painted red mask of gore. “Jesus, Jimbo. You really did look like you were going to kill him.”

“Nah. Just enough to make sure he knows what it feels like. I fucking hate bullies. Hey, help me pop his shoulder back in.”

 

☂☂☂

 

Jim arrived promptly to pick up Leslie. He heard her heels clacking down the main hall of her apartment building and then she appeared. She wore a burgundy floor-length sheath dress that matched well with her tan skin. Her lips were a similar deep red. Her coat was draped over her arm and she held a clutch in her other hand.

She smiled when she saw him waiting in the lobby. When she came closer and saw the bruise under his eye, her expression changed.

“Jim! What happened?”

“Just another day on the job. You look wonderful.”

“Thank you. You clean up pretty well, too, Detective, all things considered.”

Jim helped her put on her coat, and then offered his arm and led her to the car.

“I hate to talk work,” she said, “but I heard about that woman who was shot. Any updates?”

The bastard really did have terrible aim. And it was a blessing. In his rage, he simply pointed and shot, hitting her in the right side of the chest, up near the clavicle. She was going to pull through.

“She's stable,” Jim, said. “But it's going to be a while before she recovers completely. Gunshot wounds are rough.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied absently.

“Oh.”

 

☂☂☂

 

Jim began losing his mind an hour into the event. After circumnavigating the hotel ballroom several times with Leslie and stopping to make inane chit-chat with other attendees, it became unbearable. He lost count of how many times he had to explain his bruise. Politicians and other rich donors heaped hollow praise on him and then went off to make backdoor deals over scotch and talk of golf in the spring. His tux began to feel like a penitent’s hair shirt.

Leslie, meanwhile, gave up flirting with Jim when she realized how uninterested he was in everything, including her. The only thing he had any enthusiasm for was accepting more champagne every time a server passed by with a tray of fluted glasses. She had to catch his attention every time she wanted to talk to him; otherwise he was silent and zoned-out or fidgeting from boredom.

Jim spotted Harvey in the distance. “Oh, hey! Harvey's here! Late as usual. You mind if I go talk to him?”

“Sure,” Leslie said blandly. “I think I saw someone I should talk to.” She was aware of how quickly he said “thanks” and walked away from her.

Harvey had arrived stag and was at the buffet table, eating the cocktaIl shrimp as though it had been set out just for him.

“You know that's for everyone, right?” Jim said.

Harvey turned around and shrugged. “I'm not stopping anyone,” he said with a full mouth. “How's it going, Jimbo? Where's your date?”

“Mingling.”

“You left her alone? Well, now you're just being mean to her.”

“You know what? Go say hi to her. I don't think I can take another minute in this place.”

Harvey scoffed. “Only you could be miserable with free food and an open bar. You have the most beautiful woman here as your date and she's ready jump into your pants. I hope whatever chick you're seeing is worth turning that down. See you later, ya schmuck.”

As soon as Harvey was far enough away, Jim looked for a spot where he could be alone. He found an empty stairwell.

Over at the nightclub, Oswald was entertaining a few mid-level mobsters and he was obligated to make sure they had a good time. What he definitely made sure of was that their drinks were always filled, hoping they would be sick at the end of the night. If he could not poison them outright, he could make them vomit until their eyes popped out.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He prayed it was who he wanted it to be. It was.

>   **Can I talk to you?**
> 
> **_Yes. Give me a few minutes, please._ **

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” Oswald said, rising from the table. “I have to attend to something.”

He retreated to his office and closed the door, then dialed Jim's number from memory.

Jim answered. “Hey.”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Well, I'm at work. Aren't you at your ball right now?”

“I am and I hate every goddamn second of it. Do you think you can get away and meet me at my apartment?”

Oswald was stunned. His brain momentarily forgot how to form words. “Wha–you mean you want me to—are we—?”

“Yeah. But I understand if you can't.”

There was a pause.

“I'll be there in half an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at coming up with names, so I borrow them. Luca Brasi and Rocco Lampone are two hitmen from the Godfather movies. If you've seen the first one, it's pretty obvious whom I based this character on.  
> Willie Sutton was a famous Depression-era bank robber, but a pretty successful one, and escaped from prison 3 times. During one escape, he wore a guard uniform, and when the searchlights found him, he yelled "It's okay!" and then proceeded to use a ladder to get over the prison wall with two accomplices. Remarkably, he spent the last years of his life a free man. (Seriously, read about this guy. He deserves a movie, like, yesterday.)


	7. Chapter 7

Oswald was more than halfway up the stairs when he realized there was no need to be going so fast, especially with a bum leg. He waited, regaining his breath and composure, then slowly climbed the rest of the way to Jim's apartment.

Jim greeted him, still in his tuxedo. His bow tie was undone, his jacket was open so were the first two buttons of his shirt. Oswald liked it. A lot.

“Hello, old—oh, my…”

Jim liked the pink glow of exertion in the other man's smiling cheeks. It reminded him of the hue they took on whenever he brought him to orgasm.

“You've got some timing. I got in like five minutes ago. Come on in.”

In the brighter light of the living room, Oswald saw the bruise under Jim’s eye. “Look at you! What happened?” His hand impulsively came up to touch Jim's face.

“You should see the other guy,” Jim said, smiling. It was the first time Oswald had been the first to do something so openly affectionate. He could tell that Oswald was unaware of this, so he resisted bringing attention to it, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Oswald gasped. “You were in a fight? My goodness! And your hand, too!” He picked up Jim's right hand and examined the bruised knuckles.

“They don't all give up peacefully. A lot of them run. Some fight back.”

“What did you do?”

“As you can see, I beat the living crap out of him. Listen, can we leave that for later?”

“Oh! Of course.”

Oswald still held Jim’s hand. He looked at the new bruise beneath Jim's eye again, chuckling softly. “Aren't we two of a kind, now?”

“We sure are,” Jim replied. He removed his hand from Oswald's grasp, put it to Oswald's cheek and kissed him. Then both hands were clasping the back of the other man's head and drawing him deeper into the kiss. Oswald's arms rose of their own will to slide around Jim’s back. He was breathless when Jim finally broke from him, looking at him with eyes full of pulse-raising thrill.

They remained in their embrace; Oswald pressed his cheek to Jim's shoulder, closing his eyes. He completely forgot that it was something he was not quite ready to consciously do. Jim ran his fingers through Oswald's hair and went on playing with it while he still had the chance.

Oswald sighed. “So, you're beating up bad men and I just sat there and took it.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous!” Jim said with a scoff. “You'd be hurt or, even worse, dead if you hadn't. That was the smart thing to do.”

“I suppose you're right,” Oswald replied. “Thank you for inviting me again, Jim,” he said. “This was quite the surprise.” He kept his face hidden in Jim's shoulder. His eyes had started to burn and he prayed with his whole being it would go no further than that.

“I hope it's okay.”

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't—wait!” Oswald's head snapped up. “What about your date?”

Jim squirmed a little. “Ehh…I made up an emergency and handed her off to Harvey.”

“You just left her there?” Oswald asked with mock outrage. “That's rather rude, don't you think?”

“Would you prefer I stayed there?” Jim teased.

“No.” It filled Oswald with devilish glee to know Jim had not only chosen him over someone else, but had unceremoniously abandoned her.

_ You're mine. All mine tonight. _

He put his head back on Jim's shoulder and inhaled the cologne on his collar. “ _ Mmm _ . You smell really good.”

“I'm glad you like it. I look forward to you going after my neck again.”

Oswald laughed. He felt desire warmly pooling in his abdomen. He pictured resting his head this way on Jim's bare skin soon enough.

“You want anything?” Jim asked. “A drink?”

“No, thank you. Uh, Jim, I hope I don't sound too forward, but—”

“You want to go straight to bed.”

“Yes.”

 

///

 

They were both overdressed this time, but the anticipation of disrobing piece by piece was exhilarating. Mouths and fingers sought out skin every time more of it was uncovered. Oswald thought of it as unwrapping Christmas presents early. He trembled in Jim's hands, not with fear, but raw excitement.

Everything Oswald had worn above the waist was somewhere on the floor next to all the pieces of Jim's tux. He held on to Jim's shoulders as Jim kissed him and palmed him through the front of his pinstriped pants. Jim's kisses were fervent and unwavering, just like Jim was. Oswald burned beneath him, nearly overwhelmed by his ardor. The pale skin of his chest bore the pink flush of arousal, matching his face and the tips of his ears. 

Jim paused to unzip him, then teased him a little more through his boxers, and slowly stroked him. His mouth moved to Oswald's neck and ear, where the soft brush of Jim's lips made Oswald shudder.

How good it felt to be left  _ so _ weak. 

He was fit to burst with the emotions and sensations roiling inside him.  It was the feeling of a thousand hummingbirds in his chest vibrating all at once. To be wanted—he never even dared to wish for it. It felt so foreign that it pulled his mind at two ends: either reject these foolish carnal distractions, or surrender wholly to his desires. There could be no in-between for him; he could never do anything halfway.

Jim's weight disappeared off him, forcing his eyes open. It had been stifling the first time; tonight he felt a cold void as soon as it was gone. But Jim had simply moved down, his mouth now on Oswald's inner thighs, kissing and nipping. Oswald knew what was coming next and every second that passed without it drove him madder.

He was a second away from begging before Jim took him into his grip again. Jim rubbed the smooth underside of the shaft with his thumb, producing a quick jerk of Oswald's hips. He leaned in, slipped out his tongue and slowly traced the rim of the head, earning a choked gasp. A drop of clear fluid emerged from the tip and he licked it away, with the same precise slowness. Oswald groaned in a way that bordered on painful, so Jim ceased the teasing and finally enveloped the swollen head with his lips. He propped himself up to slide his mouth from above and allow him to swallow down more, and made up the difference with a pumping hand.

Jim had gone down on women a lot more than men, but fortunately Oswald was not difficult to please and had no idea at which Jim was better. Jim loved pleasuring women, but until now he had not been with a man he truly cared about satisfying. Not nearly this much.

When his tongue ran up the head again, Oswald moaned louder, while his hand curled into a fist and pulled hard on Jim's hair.

Jim jerked away with an “Oww!”

“Oh, my God!” Oswald gasped. “I'm so sorry!”

“No, it's okay,” Jim replied, casually waving a hand. “Barbara used to pull on my ears.” He regretted saying this immediately, but rather than become upset, Oswald raised his eyebrows with amused curiosity.

“You know, maybe…I could try again?”

“Great! Knock yourself out.”

They switched places, with Oswald straddling one of Jim's legs.

“I need to catch up to you,” he said.

“It's not a competition.”

Oswald tilted his head sideways and frowned. “That's not what I meant. I want to…be able to…” He trailed off into silence.

Jim caught his meaning. “Oh. I'm sorry, Oz.” He offered an awkward, penitent smile. “Please.”

He watched through half-closed eyes and Oswald didn't seem to mind being seen, busy with the task at hand. It still needed a bit of practice, but the rawness of his inexperience was itself a huge turn-on. There was determination, and that counted for a lot. He could tell that the other man moved his lips a little more certainly and with intent, this time. Teeth grazed him a few times, but not badly.

He gently passed his fingers through Oswald's hair. “You're a fast learner,” he said. His bedroom voice was a soft growl that sent shivers throughout Oswald's body every time.

Oswald could not smile with a full mouth but his eyes turned up for a second to meet Jim’s and shone with gratitude and then shyly averted.

Jim pushed Oswald's bangs out of his eyes when they obscured his face. He now wanted to see every slide of lips and the glisten of spit on them perfectly. He looked forward to Oswald someday being able to suck him to completion and he'd get to watch himself erupt in his mouth.

Oswald pulled off, wiping his lips with the back of a thin wrist.

“Wore yourself out already?” Jim asked.

“Afraid so.”

“Come on over here.”

Oswald crawled back up to Jim, who drew him closer into a kiss. Their cocks met and pressed against their bellies, Oswald especially liking the way the wet head of his own member rubbed over the hard ridges of Jim's abs. His hands passed over Jim's chest, over the shapes of the other man’s shoulders and arms, all those parts he associated with strength. Jim slid his hands down to Oswald's buttocks, kneading them and guiding him as the two ground into each other.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you beat up that man?”

Jim slowed down. “What?”

“What did you do to him?”

The cop's brow furrowed quizzically and he stopped. “You want to talk about this  _ right now _ ?”

“Please, Jim? Just quickly.”

“Why?”

“I'm just curious. Please?”

“What? Why now? Why not later?”

Oswald groaned impatiently. “ _ Ugh! _ You're wasting even more time by arguing.”

“Okay,  _ fine _ ,” Jim conceded. “Jesus Christ.” Oswald was still sitting on top of him, waiting as though it was Jim who brought this to a halt. “But I'm keeping it short!” He exhaled tiredly and began. “So, we were running after this guy who shot his wife. Complete piece of shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I ended up chasing him down alone. He tried ducking into an alley, but there was a fence. He shot at me, but he missed and ran out of bullets. Then, while I was trying to cuff him, he elbowed me in the gut.”

Oswald gasped and his hand came up to his mouth. “Oh, no! What did you do?”

“I grabbed him, but he turned around and gave me this shiner,” Jim said, pointing to his eye. “But I gave him back a good one. And then I…I pretty much started whaling on him.”

“You kept punching him?”

“Yeah. I broke his nose.”

Oswald's eyes widened with astonishment. Both of his hands were over his lips like a tent.

“ _ And then?” _

“I kneed him in the stomach, and, well, I'm not really proud of this, but I, uh, slammed him into the ground and I…dislocated his shoulder.”

Oswald's eyes managed to open even wider. They blazed hungrily.

“I don't know what happened,” Jim said. “I just lost it. I would have snapped his arm in half if Harvey hadn't caught up with me. And that's it. We sent him to straight to the hospital and he's under watch. There! Satisfied, you goddamn weirdo?”

“Yes.”

Oswald swooped in and kissed Jim deeply, much to the other man's surprise. He had not initiated a kiss before and Jim was happy to receive it. Somewhat unsettled, but mostly happy.

“Well, someone's in a good mood,” Jim said, once he had the chance.

“I'm  _ very _ grateful for your invitation,” Oswald purred into Jim's ear. His erection prodded rather insistently into Jim's abdomen.

“Then let's not waste any more time.”

Jim clasped the back Oswald's his head and drew him into another kiss,Then he was holding Oswald's hips, moving with them as the other man rut against him. He pulled him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around the lithe body. Oswald's cock slid wetly against Jim's and Jim met all of his movements.

Oswald buried his face in Jim's neck, muffling his groans and heavy breathing. Jim heard them, just inches from his ear, and then felt Oswald's teeth sinking into his shoulder. He cried out, though the blunt edges did not hurt much.

“Easy, easy,” he whispered, running his fingers through the other man's hair.

With a series of convulsions and rising moans, Oswald released thick spurts onto Jim's cock and abdomen; Jim felt the burst of liquid warmth on him and kept moving, then followed quickly after, adding to the sticky puddle between them. He felt Oswald go limp in all parts of his body, panting against his neck.

“Not bad for a beginner,” Jim said, likewise out of breath.

Oswald pushed himself up slightly and kissed Jim with an unexpected tenderness. Jim cupped his cheek and gave him another in return. Oswald shifted a bit and put his head on Jim's chest, then felt the comforting weight of a hand on his back. He closed his eyes, lulled by the rise and fall of the other man's ribcage, content as a cat sleeping in a sunbeam.

 

///

 

Jim played with Oswald's hair as they lay together, Oswald still on top of him, eyes shut, a hint of a smile on his lips. He almost could not believe who was really resting there with him. A criminal, a killer with a river of blood on his hands, dozing peacefully curled up around him.

He chased the thought away. Oswald's activities outside of this room were not supposed to be his concern. That was necessary if this arrangement was to continue.

Oswald stirred and raised his head slightly.

“Jim?” he said sleepily.

“Yeah?”

"May I ask you something?”

The cop glanced at his alarm clock. He was surprised by how much time had passed.

“Shoot.”

“What made you want to call me? I have to know.”

Jim smiled. “I wasn't having much fun. I went to that stupid thing out of obligation. Well, I didn't  _ have _ to go, but I was pretty much expected to. Having two cops there that were recently in the news encourages donations. Anyway, you just kind of popped into my head. And then I knew what I'd rather be doing instead.”

“Me?”

“Ha! Exactly.”

“So, your date: is she pretty?”

Jim frowned uneasily. “Oz, don't worry about that.”

“I'm simply curious,” Oswald replied.

“Sure you are. Yes, she is. And she probably hates my guts now. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I never said I did.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Oswald wavered for a moment before he spoke again. The question that had gnawed at him for days had to be asked at last. “Jim? Did you…mean what you said about me the other night?”

“What did I say?”

“You don't remember?”

“Uh, I kind of forget stuff when I drink too much. I remember what we did, but details like that are fuzzy.”

Oswald groaned, his head falling back. “Oh! Well, that's just great! Perfect.”

“Sorry,” Jim replied grimacing apologetically.

“I suppose it doesn't matter,” Oswald said with a resigned shrug. “You probably didn't mean it, anyway.”

“I doubt that. Alcohol tends to loosen lips, right? What did I say?”

Oswald hesitated again. It sounded so goddamn ridiculous in his head. “I'll tell you later. After a drink or four.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I will, eventually. Just not right now. I'm not ready. I didn't plan to say it.”

“Oh, fine,” Jim relented. He knew Oswald wouldn't budge and he lacked the energy to argue. “No more getting that drunk, by the way.”

“I suppose, then, you don't remember the other thing you said…”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Oh. Another one? No, I probably don't.”

“I'll tell you to make it up to you for the other one.”

“Okay.” Jim waited.

Oswald drew out his words delicately, like a child admitting a small transgression. “You said you wanted to… do something to me… badly.”

This did not sound good. At all.

“Well, what?” Jim asked. Oswald looked back at him reluctantly. Jim had a vague guess, which he now fought to hold back from the forefront of his mind, and prayed he was wrong.

And then it snapped back into his memory like a puzzle piece. So did the other confession, but that took a definite back seat at the moment.

Jim felt as though all his organs collapsed into the pit of his belly. “Oh. Oh, shit,” he groaned. His hand came up to cover his eyes. “Goddammit.”

“It's alright, Jim. If you're embarrassed, you shouldn't be. I took no offense to it.”

“So? I still feel like an asshole. I never would have said that to you sober. God, why couldn't you just let me not remember that?”

“Because…I'm not averse to it."

Jim froze. “What?”

“I—I'd let you,” Oswald said.

Jim stared at him incredulously. “Are you being serious right now?”

“I am.”

An unease took root inside Jim. “I…don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Oz, I don't really think you know what you're asking for.”

“If you're worried you’ll hurt me, don't. I know you wouldn't do it on purpose, Jim.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm kind of shocked you asked at all.”

“Why?”

“ _ Why? _ You hardly seem like you'd let anyone stand too close to you, let alone fuck you.”

“I've let you do things to me, haven't I?”

“Yeah. But…why this?”

Oswald scoffed. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Well, then why not? I see no reason to stop where we are. After all, why are either of us here? Why are we doing this? Because we want to. Because we're curious. It's as simple as that. So, in for a penny, in for a pound, don't you think?”

Jim grimaced uneasily. “Yeah, but, this isn't something I'd have wanted you to spring on me like this. You're kind of putting me in an awkward position.”

“I take full responsibility and blame for everything.”

“That won't really make a difference on my end.”

“Oh, what's the matter? Afraid you'll break me in half?”

“That's not funny.”

Oswald made an annoyed  _ tsk _ . “ _ Jii-iim _ , come on,” he urged. He sidled closer to Jim and put his hand on the man's chest. “Won't it feel better for you, anyway? You did me a big favor the other day and I'd like to do something for you. And you  _ did _ say you want—”

Jim shoved the hand away. He shook his head and looked at the other man with a disappointment that approached disgust.

“ _ Don't _ . Don't do that. Not with me.”

Jim’s tone made Oswald shrink back. He was already undressed, but he never felt more naked than in the sight of Jim's accusing stare.

“You don't do that to people who—you just don't do that. You don't manipulate them You don't use feelings as a bargaining chip. You'd know that if you could care about anyone but yourself.”

Oswald glared at Jim as though he'd been struck in the face. “There's no need to be cruel, Jim. That was uncalled for.”

Jim sighed, his shoulders rising and sagging. “I'm sorry. That was too harsh. I don't know why I said it.”

Oswald turned his eyes down toward his hands laying in his lap. “I suppose I shouldn't have done that. I know you hate insincerity. But I wasn't lying.” He struggled with his words. “You've been very kind to me, Jim. I don't take such things lightly. And I don't wish to be useless.”

“Oz, I already told you, you don't have to do anything. Forget all the owing and the favors. You still think you need to scheme your way into getting something.”

Oswald said nothing, thinking of how he did not really get anything he want any other way.

“You're not obligated to do something you don't want to, okay? You've got nothing to prove.”

Oswald’s head snapped up. “ _ Prove? _ ” he hissed. “I'm not trying to prove anything!”

“Alright, alright,” Jim replied. “Sorry.”

He said nothing else and watched Oswald's ire dissipate and waited for him to speak whenever he was ready.

“Jim,” Oswald said, his eyes turned downward again. “I don't think you understand how difficult this has been for me. I never thought this would happen. I've never even really had a friend, and then I'm suddenly in bed with you. I'm not like you, Jim. I don't like talking about myself the way you can. I don't even like to think about it. I don't do those things—I don't do any of this! It was actually easier then when I thought you couldn't stand me. I know how to deal with that.”

“For what it's worth,” Jim said, “I've been accused of not being forthcoming enough, either. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm single right now.” He. “You know, took a pretty big leap when you agreed to come back the next day after I kissed you the first time. You had no idea how it would go, but some part of you knew you could handle it.”

“I really don't want to just stop here.Why are either of us here? Why are we doing this? Because we want to. Because we're curious. It's as simple as that. I admit it: I'm greedy. I want more. I want everything. I- I want  _ you _ . For this—I want it to be you, Jim.”

Jim was silent for a few heavy seconds and then sighed. “Okay, fine. But, we're going to do it exactly the way I say, and you're going to tell me the truth if you're uncomfortable or want to stop. No tough-guy bullshit. Okay?”

“I promise.”

“I'm serious about this, Oswald.”

“I know you are. You called me by my full name.”

Jim swept his hair back tiredly. The mood had certainly taken a downturn. He’d lost the urge to do anything at all and Oswald looked like he needed a hug a lot more than what he had in mind.

“Listen, before we, uh—you know, I could use a cold drink. I have bottled water in the fridge. You want some?”

“Maybe later.”

Jim went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of water. He drank it slowly. Maybe Oswald would change his mind if he stalled long enough. 

No, of course not. When Oswald wanted something, he pursued it to the bitter end, at any cost.

Oswald was clearly in— _ no he isn't stop it he's not capable of it _ —Oswald was clearly…very attached to him. If Harvey could see it, it was pretty goddamn obvious. But every time Jim thought about it for longer than a second, it gave him a queasy feeling because he just  _ knew _ something would eventually go wrong. It  _ had _ to. You can't be a cop and sleep with criminal and not expect it to end catastrophically. And this was already going places he did not expect.

Jim wondered if he had encouraged him too much, maybe inadvertently led him to believe things that were not true. What did Oswald  _ really _ want from him, anyway? What was the end game?

He stared into the cold bottle in his hand. He just  _ had _ to go to the nightclub that evening and see Oswald so ruined. Since then, there was just something about him that made Jim, against his better sense, want to be good to him, the way you can't help put out food for that scrawny stray dog that keeps coming around, poor thing starved so thin you can see its ribs through its hide. It came from the same place that drew him to being a cop, that need to put things right. But it had led him to fuck up so many times already, had it not?

Truth be told, were someone to ask him point-blank how he felt about Oswald, he would have no idea how to answer. He never allowed himself to think that far.

He returned to the bedroom. Oswald was in his boxers, standing at the window and staring out of it. A nearby streetlight cast a dull orange glow that filled the entire frame.

Jim walked over and stood beside him. “See anything interesting out there?”

There was not much of a view, only the street and the buildings on the other side, blocking everything but the tallest steel spires in the distance. The black vault above was empty.

“I just felt like looking,” Oswald replied with a small shrug, keeping his eyes forward.

“Sorry the view isn't better.”

“That's alright. It’s funny, you know. I noticed how quiet it is here. Well, it's quiet at night where I live, too, but I don't think I ever stopped and consciously noticed it. I don't stop for things very often at all.” He paused for a moment. “Life moves very quickly, doesn't it, Jim?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Oswald turned his head away slightly. His eyes were burning again. “This is the only time it slows down,” he said, his voice quavering. “Or moves normally, at least. I don't have to look over my shoulder every few seconds. And I don't feel like I'm always trying to outrun a bullet. When I'm here.”

Neither said a word or moved for a few seconds until Jim took a step to stand behind Oswald. He put both hands on the man's shoulders and kissed the back of his neck. Oswald shuddered and drew in a quiet, stuttering gasp. His eyes fell shut and he felt hands moving down his sides and then arms sliding around his waist in a close embrace. Jim kissed him along his shoulder, nuzzling into the curved base of his neck.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

Jim was not exactly known for subtlety. He made his reputation being brash and stubborn. Oswald secretly admired his tenacity, even if he thought his crime-fighting pursuits were a waste of time. He had not expected the kindness, though. Jim was so different when they were alone. Oh, he knew Jim was a good man, but he never foresaw how much. Not the effort to make him feel safe, either. Not the softness of his touch or the generosity of his affection. Or the disarming force of his kiss. Or how he actually seemed to give a damn about him. It confounded him. Hate, hostility, disgust: Oswald knew those well. But kindness? It left him at a complete loss.

They separated and Oswald followed Jim into bed despite the familiar weightless feeling in his legs. He felt almost as nervous and vestal as the first time he lay in it. His eyes closed again as Jim gently pressed a thumb to his lower lip and kissed him. He felt fingers moving through his hair and then lips at his neck, which he had learned of late he liked very much.

Jim removed Oswald's underwear and then wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him and feeling him harden and swell in his grip. Oswald's mouth fell open with a moan at the first touch. He looked at Jim and thought of how the same hands that could make him feel so good and had gently held him earlier were also strong and could pummel someone half to death and fire a gun. Perhaps two halves of a person to coexist without conflict, after all.

“Okay," Jim said. "I'm going to have to get you ready, first. You'll need to be really relaxed. So, uh, put your feet on the bed like last time.”

Jim remembered how, when he was in middle school, the father of one of his friends found the kid's hidden cigarettes. As punishment, the boy had to smoke what was left in the pack right then and there until he threw up. Afterwards, the mere smell of the smoke made him nauseous. Jim, of course, was not going to do any such thing, but he thought if they tried this once, Oswald would hate it and never ask again. Then again, knowing Oswald's tenacity…

Moments later, Oswald's eyes had rolled backwards as Jim massaged his prostate with a lubricated, latex-covered finger. He let out a quick gasp with each nudge.

Jim chuckled lightly. “You like that, don't you?” He was kneeling between Oswald's bent legs and enjoying what he saw.

Oswald's reply was a weak moan that vaguely sounded affirmative. He bit his lip to keep any more to a minimum. Last time, the pleasure had taken him by surprise and he was embarrassed of his unchecked reactions.

“You know, I could probably make you come just doing this, seeing how well you respond to it.”

Oswald raised his head a little. “Really? That's possible?”

“Yep. We should do that some time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Jim removed his finger and reached for the lubricant. “I'm going to try a second, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jim applied more lube to his fingers and massaged the outside of Oswald's opening. He saw a serene look emerge on Oswald's face and his head lolling loosely to one side. He then slowly eased the tips of his fingers in and again breached the initial tight ring of muscle.

Oswald sucked in a quick breath. It made Jim pause abruptly, but he stopped himself from pulling out completely.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Jim.”

Jim looked at him doubtfully.

“I am!” Oswald shouted. “I already said I'd tell you. What makes you think I'm so fragile?”

“Haven't you felt enough pain in the last couple of weeks?”

Oswald rolled his eyes in frustration. “I can stand a lot more than you think!”

“Okay, okay!” Jim conceded. “Calm down.” 

Gradually, he slid his fingers forward, observing the other man's face and listening for reactions. “You know, this isn't really the ideal way I'd have gone about doing this,” he said. "I've never done this the first time for anyone, as far as I know."  


“I've felt far worse things. Just as long as you do that thing, I'll be fine.”

Oswald was obviously not in agony, but the strain in his face showed despite his attempts to conceal it. And he kept clenching and making Jim's efforts difficult.

”You're tensing up a bit. Relax.”

“I'm trying.”

Jim moved his fingers a little, coaxing the other man's body to allow him passage.  He crooked his fingers and pressed, forcing a loud moan out of Oswald's throat. Oswald made eye contact with Jim for less than a second, reddened with embarrassment, and turned his head away.

“Don't be shy,” Jim said. His fingers kept moving. “Make all the noise you want. It's just us two here. If you really want to do something for me, show me how this makes you feel. The you I know has no shame indulging himself.”

The look on Oswald's face was the same as when Jim recounted the altercation in the alley: thrilled and emboldened. This time, when he trembled it was with pure excitement.

Jim began sliding his fingers back and forth a little in attempt to familiarize him with the sensation. Oswald took to it well, whining and writhing, fingers curling to grip the bed sheet. His cock throbbed with an ache that he would have begged to have relieved had Jim not started to stroke him. The pleasure melted him further and Jim could make the thrusts with his fingers quicker and deeper.

“Still good?” Jim asked.

“ _ Yes! _ For God's sake, yes!”

They continued for a while until Jim removed his fingers. “Do you think you're ready?”

“As ready as I can be, I guess.”

“Okay. Take that pillow and put it under your butt.”

Oswald followed the instruction and Jim helped him adjust the pillow until it properly elevated his hips. Suddenly, the reality of where this was headed set in for Oswald. He finally had the proper amount of trepidation and his now-twisting stomach drove the point home.

Jim opened another condom package with his teeth, rolled it onto his cock and coated it with a more-than-generous amount of lube. He poured some more into his hand and applied it to Oswald's entrance.

“Alright,” Jim said. “Don't say I didn't warn you.” He gripped his cock and pressed it to the opening.

“You're absolutely sure about this?” he asked one last time.

Oswald hid his anxiety the best way he knew how: with a threat: “If you ask me again, I'll slap you.”

Jim laughed. “I'd expect no less from you.”

They both held their breaths and, as carefully as he could, Jim kept pressing until the head of his cock slipped inside.

Oswald cried out.

Jim instantly withdrew.

“Oh, my God!” he said, pulling himself away. He put his hands up as a sign of finality. “Fuck! I told you this was a bad idea!”

Oswald grabbed Jim's arm and tugged. “Jim, no! Please!  _ Please _ , Jim. You can't stop now!”

Jim looked back at Oswald, wishing he would not look at him so pleadingly. It was the desperate kind of begging, not the erotic plea for release from the last time he visited him. He had not seen Oswald like this in a long time and it was painful and unsettling. It left him split on whether it made him want to do this even less or more obligated to go on.

“Jim,  _ please _ .”

Jim closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “Fine. Fine.”

He lined himself up again and guided his cock back inside. Oswald clenched his teeth to withhold another outburst. He had to begrudgingly admit that  _ maybe  _ Jim was right to be apprehensive about this. There was not much of a transition between Jim's fingers and his cock. And it had only begun.

Jim paused and preemptively said, “Don't worry, I'm not pulling out.”

“Okay.”

“How is it?” Jim asked.

Oswald's mouth felt like it was lined with paper. “Tolerable.”

“Well, that's wonderful,” Jim replied dryly.

“Just keep going.”

“Okay. But I need you breathe. It'll help.”

Oswald nodded.

“Alright.” Jim gave him a look to inform him he was going to continue; Oswald acknowledged it. With the same measured caution, Jim resumed and pushed in further. It was tighter than anything he'd ever felt, like a clamp encircling his cock, but,  _ God _ , did it feel good.

He paused again. “Do you think you can lift your feet up and bend your knees?”

“ _ What?” _

“If you can. It'll make things easier.”

“I'll try.” Oswald carried out Jim's suggestion, despite feeling a little silly. “Good?”

“Good,” Jim said, smiling reassuringly, and resumed.

Oswald inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath, trying to will his flesh into cooperating, to somehow make it do something it was clearly not meant to. He felt Jim's girth slowly sliding deeper, expanding him past what he thought he could take. The pain informed him of his body's objections and made them unmistakably evident through his face and the whimpers that escaped his throat, but he refused to be cowed by it.

Jim stopped when he decided it was enough for now, with most of his cock inside. He retracted a little and pushed back in just to test. Oswald responded with a groan.

“Was that okay?”

“Yes.”

Jim leaned forward and his cock sank deeper in. He was face-to-face with Oswald again, remaining still to give him a break and allow him to adjust.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Full,” Oswald replied hoarsely. He was pale and a film of cold sweat had appeared his forehead.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, Jim. The blame’s all on me. Remember?”

“I can't just turn off feeling bad, Oz. But I know how you feel, at least.”

“You do?”

“I do. So, whenever you're ready.”

“Go ahead.”

“You're sur—?”

Oswald shot Jim a look that stopped him mid-word.

“Okay, then,” Jim said, and started to move.

He rocked his hips slowly and kept his thrusts shallow and carefully measured. Oswald held on to his back and moaned quietly at each forward stroke. The way the head of Jim's cock slid into his prostate made it bearable. Jim had exactly zero expectations of any pleasure for himself; his only concerns were making this as painless as possible and getting it over with.

“I still hate you for making me do this,” he said.

“I can live with that.”

They both smiled at each other and then laughed, finally breaking the tension.

Jim stayed at the same pace and sped up slightly only when Oswald's whimpers softened and his body felt less like it was bracing itself against the pain. He kissed Oswald, trying to give him something else to focus on. Oswald's hand eventually rose to rest on the back of Jim's neck, a welcoming sign that gave Jim immense relief. But Oswald never took his attention away from the feeling of Jim moving inside him.

There was an odd satisfaction to the ache, of knowing he was being entered and filled beyond his limits, of the thick, hard flesh opening and deflowering him again and again. He liked that. And he liked that it was Jim. He had wanted it to be Jim for reasons even he could not make sense of. Something about the act, the vividness of its reality, made him feel alive for the first time in—God, how long had it been? When did he last feel so present and with so much clarity? No, not since years ago when he opened someone's skin the first time, feeling the solidness of the knife in his hand, and then seeing the shocking red that followed, so bright it made the rest of the world gray.

“You're doing alright,” he heard Jim say.

He opened his eyes. “Really?” The child-like way he asked pulled at Jim's heart.

“Really,” Jim said, and kissed him softly enough for it to be wholly innocent.

He kissed him along the jaw and across his cheeks where they were dusted with freckles, and brushed the skin just under the fading scar with a thumb. Oswald predictably blushed. Their eyes met. Oswald's widened with fear and he instantly looked away.

“Hey, come on,” Jim urged gently. He put his hand to Oswald's cheek. “Look at me.”

Oswald's eyes veered toward Jim for a second. They were wet with the first emergence of tears. He shut them tightly.

“Oz, what's wrong? Does it hurt?”

“N-no.” The crack in Oswald's voice betrayed him. Jim felt him shaking again.

“It's okay, Oz. We can try another—”

Oswald's grasp tightened sharply where he held Jim. “No! Don't you stop!” 

“Easy, easy, now. I won't.”

Whatever was troubling Oswald, Jim left it be. There would be time for it later and Oswald was clearly determined for this to come to its natural conclusion, no matter what. And, he decided, it was time to reach it.

He took Oswald's cock into his grip and stroked him, starting out slowly, teasingly, and gradually quickened.

Oswald’s breath caught in his throat and he choked out a stiff, nearly pained moan as he came. The flood of endorphins gave him pain-free bliss for a few glorious seconds. His inner spasms were divine around Jim's cock, and for a moment he wished Jim allowed himself more satisfaction. Jim removed himself and knelt upright above Oswald. He pulled off the condom and jerked himself off quickly, painting the other man's belly with his release. When he was spent, he slumped forward and landed next to him.

When he caught his breath, he found his boxers and wiped Oswald clean with them.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore.”

Jim frowned remorsefully.

Oswald shrugged. “Relax, Jim. It was to be expected, wasn't it? I don't regret it.”

“So it wasn't too bad?”

“No.”

“You're okay?”

“Jim…”

“Sorry. Just making sure.”

Jim leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

“If you want to shower first, feel free.”

“Later,” Oswald said. “I'm just going to rest for now.” He turned onto his side and pulled the covers up to his chin.

Agreeing with this idea, Jim got up and turned off the hallway light. The window provided only the barest amount of visibility. Oswald could hide in the dark if he needed to.

He climbed back under the covers, moved up behind Oswald and put an arm over his waist.

“I meant what I said, you know.”

“What?”

“The other thing I said. I remember.”

Oswald's stomach twisted right on cue. “Oh. Alright. Thank you.”

“That's it? That's all you say after making such a fuss?”

“I'm sorry. I'm…I'm very tired.”

“I understand,” Jim said. Oswald probably reached his daily limit on openness, he guessed. He was silent for a moment, and then moved his hand to Oswald's arm. “You are, you, know. Maybe not in a conventional way, but you fit my definition of it, for whatever that's worth.” He shifted closer and kissed into the black tangle of hair. “Please don't disappear again. I wouldn't really blame you if you did, but I'd feel a lot better if I woke up with you still here.”

He heard the reply in a whisper that struggled under the weight of tears. 

“You have my word, Jim.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a Jim relationship if Jim wasn't an asshole at least once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...uh, it's been a while. I abandoned this fic a year ago, mainly because stuff in my life had me in what I'd call a persistent despondency (which is a nicer way of saying depressed as shit) and drained the will out of me. Yet, I never stopped thinking about it, and by some miracle, I was finally able to finish an old draft of a chapter. (I'm still a shit writer even after a whole year, though.) I don't want to make any promises but I'm going to try to do better. And I'm standing by this ship like the goddamn musicians on the Titanic.

Jim came to his desk on Monday morning. Harvey was already sitting at his own. He made a face of dread when they saw each other, worrying Jim.

“Oh, man,” Harvey said. “You're in truh-buuuuuhhl!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lee is _pissed_ at you.”

Jim felt all the blood drain from his face. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah, man.”

“Have you seen her this morning?”

“No, not since the thing, but let me tell you, she was _not_ happy after you left. Buddy, you made her cry.”

Jim anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck!”

“Yeah. She didn't full-out sob, but she was really upset and she teared up. I tried to cover for you, but she wasn't buying it.”

“Shit. What did you say?”

“You know…stuff. That you're a good guy, you wouldn't leave without a legit reason, yadda yadda.”

“And then?”

“And then I drove her home. Oh-ho, yes. She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek goodnight for being such a gentleman. And that was that.”

Jim rubbed his forehead, sighing miserably. “I have to go talk to her.”

“Uhh, you sure about that?”

“If I put it off, it'll look worse.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. Hey, how about some good news?”

“Sure. Please.”

“Mrs. Harris—you know, the lady shot by that piece-of-shit of a husband—she had her third surgery this morning. She's stable and she keeps drifting in and out, but it looks like she’s going to pull through.”

Jim’s shoulders slackened a little. “Good. That's good to hear. Thanks. Alright, I'll be back.”

“Good luck, pal.”

Jim walked to the medical examination room with the same knot in his stomach as when he was in the army on his way to get reamed for disobeying orders. He never once did anything disgraceful, but he did have a tendency to do things his own way. Nothing would ever change that.

He walked in. Lee was standing near the exam table with her back to him, filling out a report on a clipboard. She turned her head to see who had come in and quickly turned it back. Jim saw the change into contempt on her face in that split-second.

“Lee.”

“If you have something to say to me, Detective,” she said, keeping her back to him, “do it quickly. I have work to do. Try your best to be truthful, if that's possible.”

It stung, but Jim accepted it. “Lee…I wanted to say I'm sorry. You have every right to be angry. I really screwed up. It was never my intention to hurt you. I'm just—I am really, really sorry. If I could do it over—”

Lee whirled around sharply. “Stop! Just stop!” she shouted. The way she gestured with the clipboard still in her hand made Jim think it would fly in his direction, making him flinch. “God, you can't even tell the truth when you're apologizing! I know you didn't want to be there. You couldn't have made it more obvious! I felt more like a burden to you than your date.”

She felt tears building up behind her eyes and paused to compose herself. Jim remained silent.

“Why didn't you just tell me you wanted to leave?” she demanded. “I would have left with you. You think I was _dying_ to be there?”

“You're right,” Jim said, shaking his head remorsefully. “I didn't want to be there. I guess I thought you'd be better off there without me, anyway.”

Lee scoffed incredulously at him. “Better off? The only reason I went was because—because of you!” Her voice grew louder and angrier, enough to unsettle Jim. “You! Why did you even go there with me? Do you even know what you did? You humiliated me! Do you understand that, you bastard?”

“I…”

“And where did you go, Jim? Hmm? What was so damn important that you had to dump me and go off without a single word?”

Several very long seconds passed before Jim forced out a reply. “I think it's best if I don't tell you.”

It was enough of an answer for her, and her face twisted with what was unmistakably revulsion. He let her believe whatever she thought it was, said no more, and left.

 

///

 

Ten minutes to midnight.

The band played jaunty swing numbers all night long and the chatter of drinking partygoers added to the ruckus. The place was fuller than ever tonight, on New Year’s Eve. Oswald sat at his usual table, nursing the same glass of champagne for an hour now. He was only mildly drunk and had taken a seat to make sure the imbalance in his legs did not make him fall.

Last week had brought some unpleasantness. A bartender was been found over-pouring drinks for bigger tips and Oswald had to have Gabe break all of his fingers. He did not show up the next day, or after that. Some people just bend too easily under pressure. Oswald had to scramble to find a new one at the last minute and he just hated when things did not go as perfectly as planned.

A headache was now building behind his eyes and at his temples. For once, he wanted to be home, asleep.

Jim was definitely not coming tonight.

The last time they spoke, Jim called him to thank him for his Christmas present. Jim was always so cold over the phone, even at home with no one around. He seemed especially distant that evening.

The detective had returned after the holidays and found a slip in his mailbox informing him there was a package waiting for him at the post office. It was more than a package; it was a goddamn crate. Six bottles of that expensive wine Oswald arrived with. Jim was more of a beer and whiskey guy, but damn if it wasn't the best thing he ever drank. The smooth wood of the case smelled like it had been hewn from a tree that morning. He tried not to think about how much it was worth. Not to assign it any long-term value.

“You really shouldn't have, Oz.”

He meant it. It was disconcerting. Presents? What next?

_Shit. Now you owe him. He's got you in his debt and you're stuck._

He felt his throat tighten and his heart race. How did it get—how did he _let_ it get to this?

_Oh, Christ. Oh, fuck._

“I, uh, I'm sorry I didn't get you anything.”

“Oh, don't worry, Jim! I wasn't expecting anything. But, if you'd _like_ to repay me…when can I see you again?”

“Um, soon? Probably after New Year’s.”

“Ah. Alright. Do you have New Year's Eve plans?”

“Yeah, work.”

“Oh, no! That's terrible!”

“I don't mind.”

“You know, I'll be hosting an especially festive gathering on New Year's Eve. You ought to drop by, Jim.”

The heavy pause that followed foretold the response. “Yeah, I don't know, Oz. I don't think it's a good idea that we be seen in public together. Definitely not on friendly terms. Maybe not at all, just to be safe.”

“Oh.” The phone seemed absent in Oswald's suddenly numb fingers. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to go.”

But he did not.

Oswald cursed himself bitterly, hating the way he was letting it get to him now. Yet, all he could think of was what occurred at his last meeting with Jim and how soon Jim could do it to him again. It left him sore for days, but he found satisfaction in the reminder. If only he knew how to ask Jim not to handle him like glass anymore. He wanted the hickeys to last longer and yearned for fingerprint bruises and teeth marks that would linger. And _God_ , he wanted to inflict his share of them, if just so he could taste Jim's skin again.

Jim had been so good to him through it. Hell, Oswald had to convince him to do it at all. His dear Jim, who still inspired his nighttime proclivities, whom he imagined before falling asleep crawling into his bed, pulling off his pyjama bottoms and swallowing him down. Or raising his legs up, exposing him obscenely, and taking him like he did then. Oswald's fingers were no substitute for Jim's erect, deeper-reaching cock, but they sufficed. His right hand would furiously stroke him, until he was shuddering and streams of come warmed his belly. He whimpered Jim's name into his pillow, muffling the sound.

Sometimes he fell asleep quickly. Sometimes he brooded in his shame with burning eyes for what he had, in his own words, been reduced to: giving into his urges and trying to replace what he could not keep himself from needing. He loathed himself and he loathed Jim for it, but not nearly enough to stop wanting him.

It was all because of that woman, wasn't it? Jim felt guilty about what he did to her, so Oswald had to pay to balance the scales. That's why he was so cold, again. Like before. Always in pursuit of justice, that Jim.

Someone in the crowd yelled, “One minute left!” and brought Oswald out of his contemplations. Cheers and whoops filled the room. Oswald stood up and put on a grin, his face as different and false as a mask. He picked his glass up. He originally planned to take the stage and lead the countdown, but gave it up a while ago.

The revelers all stood in place and started counting down from 30 seconds. It became one collective roar of sound to him and he zoned out again for a moment, then regained focus.

“10… 9… 8…”

_“I don't think it's a good idea.”_

“7… 6… 5… 4…”

_“Maybe not at all.”_

“3…2…1…

**_“I don't want you coming here.”_ **

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The club exploded. Dozens of noisemakers blew. Over a hundred glasses clinked. Oswald downed the rest of his champagne in one go. The band played “Auld Lang Syne” and the guests sang along, their raised drinks swaying above their heads. Couples kissed at the stroke of midnight, some who had arrived together, others who had just met that evening. They all looked so blissful, so carefree, encased in two-person worlds that made everything outside disappear. Like in a bedroom.

Oswald spotted a young man and a young woman by themselves off in the farther, darker end of the club. The woman stood with her back against the wall and the man was pressed to her, groping her left breast from beneath her blouse. They kissed fiercely, completely indifferent to their surroundings and undoubtedly drunk. The man's upturned hand vanished under the woman's skirt. Her moan was overpowered by all the noise, but her face revealed more than enough. She gyrated against the man's moving hand and her knees almost buckled under her.

This was how Oswald had viewed physical intimacy: animalistic, undignified and repellent. But what did that matter to them? The two cared nothing for what those around them thought and, just like many of the guests, were clearly in a state of mind where nothing but their own pleasure existed.

 _Had_ viewed. He _had_ viewed it that way. Before Jim. Before he was shown it could be so...

Oswald caught Gabe's attention and motioned for him to come over.

“Gabe, do you see those two in the back? Remove them from the premises. But do it quietly; don't make a scene. Once they're outside, inform them on no uncertain terms that they are no longer welcome.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Cobblepot.”

“Thank you. Oh, and on your way back, get me another bottle.”

 

///

 

“So, rookie, you gonna tell me about this girl you're boning or what?”

“Bullock, shut the hell up.”

Jim and Harvey had been sitting in the car for nearly two hours, parked down the block from a run-down building. They hoped a friend of a murder suspect would show up there so they might extract the whereabouts of the suspect from him. The friend likewise had a criminal record and his file included a current address, making the detectives’ jobs much easier.

Even after almost three coffees, sleepiness and boredom had put Jim in a bad mood.

“Yeesh. Someone's grumpy. I'm just trying to lighten things up.”

Jim kept his eyes forward. His hand was numb from squeezing the nearly-empty third cup. “Stop talking.”

Harvey took a sip from his own cup and asked, “Are you still moping about Lee?”

This made Jim turn his head. “What? No! What does that have to do with anything?”

“For more than a week, you've been going around with this look on your face like a dog that got yelled at for piddling on the carpet. She's probably more over it than you are.”

“It's not her!”

“Then what? You pissed off the other one?”

Jim's reply just sort of slipped out. “Yeah—I mean—maybe? I don't know! Shut up.”

“ _Shiiit_. You know, she's going to expect more out of you after that whole thing. She probably thinks she's special now. So, you'd better say you're sorry and watch yourself.”

Jim had done more that night than ditch Lee, though. The whole thing went so much farther than Harvey could imagine.

“I told you,” Jim insisted, “it's not that kind of relationship.”

Harvey laughed, purposely exaggerating. “Oh, you sweet, young thing. _Suuure_ it isn't.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worry not; it will get better. ;)


End file.
